


The Rise Of The Assassin

by AlwaysAndForever14



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alaric bashing bc fuck Matthew Davis, Alaric is a dick but like, Assassin Hope, F/F, F/M, Fluff, I say it's an AU, I was reading Throne Of Glass and here we are, Implied Smut, King Alaric, Lesbians lets go lesbians, Like LOOSELY, Lizzie is bi and I will die on that hill, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Princess Josie, This is literally TOG but with Legacies characters and gay, bisexuality strikes again, but only a few bc i cba to write lots, but then it gets real messy real quick, look at the blueprint that is his actor, loosely based off of ToG, no beta we die like men, so it's like an AU to some extent, some fighting scenes, this isn't canon compliant at all it's an AU lmao, to be fair, we been knew, wlw and mlm solidarity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysAndForever14/pseuds/AlwaysAndForever14
Summary: Hope Marshall, a very well known assassin, is the daughter of Klaus Mikaelson, the leader of the Rebellion against the great King Alaric. No one knows this, however, and her true identity has been kept a secret from anyone for many years. One day, she is captured by the King, and is forced to face many different challenges to prove that she is worthy of being the King's Champion. If she wins, her freedom will be granted after 5 years of service, if she loses, well, she dies. But, what will happen when she falls for the King's daughter, the Princess Josette? What will happen when she discovers that the palace hides many secrets? That some Champions are being murdered? What will happen when people reveal themselves to be the people that Hope had never truly expected? This tale is much more than what appears on the surface?
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 27
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a rewrite of a fanfic that I attempted to write about two years ago. I didn't like the way that it was written so I decided to rewrite it :) This is basically a Throne of Glass AU but kind of not really? I mean, it follows the first book pretty accurately, but then after that I kind of decided to do my own thing? And there are also parts of this that have absolutely nothing to do with ToG. So I apologise if that annoys anyone. But, if you simply do not like it, then there are always lots of other fics for you to enjoy on this site :) take your pick. So, enjoy, and please feel free to comment, I love hearing what people have to say about my stories :). Alright, that's it from Lou for now.

Hope looked up to face the Crown Prince, "You want me to WHAT?" She asked, her voice laced with disbelief as she spoke.

Hope was very much aware of her surroundings, very much aware of the guards that would no doubt stake her right where she knelt for even opening her mouth and speaking to the prince in that way. But, she would take her fucking chances with that one. She was feeling a little antsy today. 

The prince, who had been sitting casually in that pretty golden throne of his, had the fucking audacity to simply smirk at her, leaning forwards in his throne. Hope would've rolled her eyes if not for the circumstances. But, trust her, the urge was certainly there. 

"You heard me," The Crown Prince said arrogantly, which made Hope raise an auburn eyebrow suggestively at the young man.

Hope licked her teeth in distaste for him. If her father were here, he would be so disappointed in her. Disappointed in her for not slitting his throat already. 

You see, she had the ability to do shit like that. After all, she was one of the kingdoms most notorious assassins. She could've leaped from her dreadful position and strangled him within seconds, hanging his rotting corpse from the chandelier chains of the grand Throne Room would just be an afterthought.

The thought had crossed her mind several times, but she knew that she would've been killed in an instant by the many guards in the room. Her eyes subconsciously flickered over the stoic figures surrounding the two of them. When she had first entered the room, she almost went up to them to check that they weren't actually statues. 

"Sorry, I think you might have to repeat it again. There's no way you just said what I think you did," she snarked, face twisting in disgust for the twenty-three year old prince.

She did know not much about Milton Greasely Saltzman, but she did know that he was a royal, arrogant ass. And that was pretty much all she needed to know to hate him. She also knew that his dad was the king of not only the kingdom, but assholes too. His skin was a beautiful creamy caramel, and his chocolate brown eyes and pearly white teeth glistened in the natural sunlight, which REALLY pissed Hope off.

He just SCREAMED privilege. Like most of his subjects weren't starving in the streets, barely managing to find scraps of cloth to sew together as garments for their thinning bodies. Hope had seen it firsthand, how the rich would wear the finest gowns and attend the most exquisite feasts and pay for the finest jewels, leaving little to nothing left for the rest of the citizens. 

It made her sick to her stomach, how inconsiderate people could be for the well-being of others. But she shouldn't have expected anything less from them. All of the stories that her father had told her when she was young, about how the rich didn't care for people like them. All they cared about was sapphires, rubies and gold. They couldn't give two tosses about their corrupt king and how the kingdom was slowly becoming the most terrifying place on earth. 

The Crowned Prince leaned forward in his throne, drumming his fingers rhythmically on his kneecap, clearly amused by her words, "I want you, Hope Marshall, to be my Champion in an upcoming competition." He repeated, being such a prick about all of this. There was a mischievous glint in his brown eyes that gave him away. He was seriously getting a kick out of this. 

"What competition?" She spat, daring to look at the prince in the eyes. It physically pained her to do this. This was the son of the man that had let thousands of innocent people die. The man who had people working as literal slaves in camps just so that he could have bragging rights over other countries. Someone get her a bucket, she was about to puke her guts out. 

"A competition," Oh he was really getting a kick out of this, she scowled mentally, "Where each member of the Kings Court nominates an assassin, a thief, a warrior, whatever you hooligans," she snarled at that, "want to call yourselves. I personally don't give a shit."

"And you will compete the become the Kings Champion. If you win, you will become the King's champion." His eagerness was bursting through, it was hilarious. For someone who was probably raised to keep his emotions in check at all times, it was amusing for her to see him so excited about something that she dreaded so deeply already. 

Hope desperately wanted to mock this situation, but she knew that she couldn't. She knew why she was here, and she was going to do everything in her power to make this situation the most non-humiliating situation ever. If not for her pride, then for her spite of everyone and everything. 

"Lucky me," she sarcastically drooled, and she almost saw she saw the prince smile at that. She was glad that he caught himself, imagine having to explain to someone that you got Prince fucking Milton to crack an actual smile at you. They wouldn't believe you, obviously, but the thought was still present in her mind. 

Despite herself, questions were buzzing in the young woman's head, but she couldn't voice them all. For one; humiliation. And also, she knew if she spoke too much, she could be harmed. She didn't know much about the Prince Milton, but if he was anything like his father, then he was cruel and ruthless. And a terrible fashion sense. 

"If you were to win, you'd win. But if you were to lose, you'd go back to prison, and die." Milton- sorry, the PRINCE, said. She hated him already. He had this aroma constricting around his frail body that made Hope want to hang herself just to get out of this conversation. The thought was getting increasingly more inviting to the girl as their conversation progressed. 

"What would happen once I was the Kings Assassin?" Hope queried, trying to make her voice as emotionless as physically possible. She had done a lot of training, and didn't even need to bat an eye to know that she had succeeded. Stoicism was kind of her thing, which was the only thing that she and the guards in the throne room had in common. 

"Well, you'd serve him for 5 years, and once you're done, we'll grant you complete freedom." All of the joking had left the prince now, and sincerity was granted to Hope, which definitely caught her by surprise. His words were curt and simple, but their meaning tore into Hope like a hot knife to butter. 

Hopes head snapped up at those last two words, her forest green eyes meeting the princes's chocolate brown ones, "W-what?" She asked, her voice faltering. So much for emotionless... she mentally chided. 

"If you manage to complete all 5 years of service, then you will be granted your freedom." He repeated with an eye roll. She had to clench her jaw, knowing that there were more important pieces of information at hand right now. 

"Did your father make this offer?" She asked, wanting to laugh at how amazing that offer sounded. It was quite literally the best offer that anyone could ever receive. It sounded way too good to be true. Was she dreaming? Her shackled hand found the pale skin of her forearm. Ow. Yeah, she definitely wasn't dreaming.

Maybe she died, maybe this was heaven! No, no, absolutely not. There was no fucking way that Hope fucking Marshall would actually be able to get into heaven. There was no question about it, she was definitely in hell. It was all coming toge-

"No," Milton's voice cut off her train of thought as the crown prince shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "I did. In actuality, my father just wanted to kill you after you had finished serving him, but I managed to persuade him."

Hopes heart almost stopped. The offer sounded very very tempting. It would grant her her freedom. Something that she had been after since as long as she could remember. It would mean that she would finally be able to walk without having to have shackles weighing down her hands. She could finally explore the world, see all the places that she had always wanted to see, do everything that she had ever dreamed of doing.

Only, would this be the life the her parents wanted for her? If she were to take the deal, she would be going against everything that her parents had ever taught her. She would be working for King Alaric, the most despicable ruler this kingdom has ever had, They wanted her to fight the system, not to become a part of it. Could she let them down like that?

Her father, Klaus Mikaelson, was the leader of massive rebel group that was fighting against the King and his rules. When Hope was younger, the rebellion fought the king viciously over what he was doing to his people. Their cause was just and right, but they knew that the king and his men weren't going to fight fairly.

So, in order for them to achieve the goal that they wanted, they knew that they needed to be tough. Lives were going to be lost, and they needed to be willing to pay the price for their kingdom to go back to the way that it once was. It was why Hope knew that what she was doing was going towards the right cause, for her kingdom and for her father. For the rebellion and the friends and the family that she had found in them.

The rebel group still stood, hiding somewhere in the mountains with her father. They had been forced into hiding after one of their main leaders had been killed. She had decided to stay behind, fight the battles in other ways as they prepared for...something. Klaus never told Hope what it was. She could only hope that it was going to be worth it. She had wanted to help every single day she was trapped in her cell, but alas. 

Her mother, however, was a different story. She was a spy for the Rebellion, hiding from within the King's Council. Hope had to admit that the possibility of seeing her if she decided to agree to Prince Milton's terms were slim, but a small part of her hoped that maybe she would be able to see her mother if she decided to agree to this ludicrous concept.

Hope highly doubted she would ever see her mother again, but she knew that she had to make both of them proud. She had only met her mother once, and she had been too young to vividly remember her, which made all of it even more frustrating. She knew that her mother was out there, somewhere, and she had to make her proud.

But how could she do that if she was dead?

She looked at the prince credulously, "So, if I do partake in this competition, you will grant me my freedom?" she tried to straighten her shoulders, keeping her chin held high so she didn't look like an idiot. 

"That is correct,” Milton confirmed, his face returning to 'I'm an asshole' mode. Was it horrible to say that she missed it when he was being all serious with her? Probably. 

Hope huffed, glancing down at the shackles her hands were in. They were really stating to suck ass. The rusting metal was chaffing against her rough arms constantly, digging painfully into her skin and rubbing so hard that the once smooth skin was replaced with red, blistering flesh.

She grimaced as she looked down at the monstrosity that was her hands. If she agreed to this, then maybe her life might be able to gain some sort of normalcy again. And that was all she ever wanted. So, that was why she heaved a deep breath and said:

“Oh, why the fuck not?”

Milton smiled, the kind of grin that lit up his face, but not in a good way. That bitch was still ugly as fuck. He turned his head sideways, glancing at a guard positioned near Hope, “Marshall, this is Captain Waithe.”

Hopes sight turned to a man with a long, black robe on. Even when his body was clothed, his posture showed that he had a lot of muscle. Of course he did, she scowled to herself, he was the fucking Captain. He bowed to the prince, before pulling back his hood to reveal soft brown eyes, caramel skin and closely cut hair.

Hope almost choked on air.

He was so young!

Hope had to stop herself from dropping her jaw at his youthfulness. His features were so gentle, but she could see some roughness on the exterior. Unlike hers, his jaw was trapped in place, a cold look in his gaze. She actually thought that he could be a decent guy, but that was quickly thrown away when the man glared at her.

Hope had a feeling that they weren’t going to get on well. Call it a hunch. 

“Rafael,” The prince spoke up, making her turn to face him once again, “Take her to her chambers, give her some food and wash her. She looks like a filthy animal.” His eyes swept up and down her appearance, a sneer on his face. 

Hope frowned, about to retort at the prince, before looking down at her appearance. He wasn’t wrong, for once, she looked terrible.

Rafael grabbed her roughly by the elbow, tugging her off of the throne room floor and dragging her through the corridors of the castle. She allowed herself to be dragged, but only because she had little energy left from spending all of her time bickering with the prince. 

“You seem friendly, don’t you?” Hope asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Rafael didn’t respond, he only continued to walk down the long, twisting corridor, his eyes narrowed in the direction that they were travelling in. 

“And talkative,” she mumbled, trying not to wince as the chain hit a sore spot in her knee. Her feet were struggling to keep up with the quickening pace he was walking at. Her ankles were swollen and they were really starting to remind her of that.

“I don’t talk to criminals,” was his brief response, his eyes flickering over to her for a few brief moments before once again returning forwards. 

“Fair enough,” Hope muttered, pulling an appreciative face, her eyes wandering elsewhere. After all, she could see where he was coming from with that.

But, if she could just take a few moments to defend herself and her actions, everyone that Hope killed had deserved it. That already sounds sketchy, but they had murdered, slaughtered, kidnapped, tortured, taken the lives of innocents. And they did all of that with a smile on their face. They were way worse than her, believe her.

Hope took no pleasure with her job, only the fraying promise of ‘One day things will be better’. She knew that the reason she needed to do this was so that they could finally restore peace to the once calm kingdom. The fact that she even had to kill people in order to achieve that should tell you everything that you need to know about the circumstances they were in.

The words 'one day things will be better' had stuck with her for the past 18 years, become her moral compass without her even realising it. Everything that she had done, it was for a brighter future. A future where everyone could be treated as equals, and no one was tossed to the side in favour of riches and fortune. A future where a ruler prioritised the safety of the people over their wealth. 

Okay, she knew the irony in that. Kill a bunch of people for a better world. But it was true. As her father once told her, 'To be successful, sacrifices must be made'. And, sure, those sacrifices were assholes, but it still pained her every single time she had to kill someone. It was a difficult thing to stomach, and Hope knew that she would never be used to the look that her victims gave her as their life slowly crumbled away before her eyes. 

Hope externally shuddered, trying to look at the corridors that they were rapidly travelling down instead.

Rafael practically threw her into her chambers, removing her chains swiftly before giving her a poisonous look and locking the door behind him as he left.

Hope let out a scoff at his abruptness, looking down to the redness of her skin, how raw it was. She hadn't seen her forearms bear for weeks, and they weren't looking too great. The paleness of her forearms looked almost foreign when compared with the rest of her dirty, filthy skin. Her fingertips grazed the broken skin, hissing as it sent pain shooting up her arm. She knew that it was probably going to get infected, and that she would need to wash it quickly. 

Sighing to herself, Hope picked herself up off of the floor, wincing as a few bones in her kneecaps clicked with discomfort. She sniffed, dragging herself to a large mirror that was placed in her room.

She smirked, she could easily use that mirror as a weapon, and kill each and every one of those stupid guards giving her not-so-subtle glances through the hole in the door. Mainly Rafael, she HATED Rafael. And that was saying something, as she had only just met him and exchanged few words with him.

Instead, she just looked at her reflection.

Her complexion that was usually a milky white, was now a grainy yellowy brown, a mixture of lack of bathing and everything that she had gone through. Her cheeks wore no colour, all colour drained of her cheeks long ago. Her facial features were hollow and sunken in, and she could see how sharp her cheekbones actually were. She could make out the faint freckles dotted on her cheeks, freckles she didn't even know that she had until now.

Her hair was filthy, having lost all its shine and beauty when she was captured months ago. Her auburn locks were caught in tangles that twisted and pulled near her shoulders, pieces of dirt and leaves entangled in the knots that pervaded her hair. Her eyes had lost all of its light and joy, and instead were sad and dull, bearing the witness of multiple crimes and tragedies. 

She lifted up her shirt slightly, and sucked in a breath as she saw her stomach. She could see her rib cage poking out from underneath the pale skin, as her stomach had lost all of its fat and shape ages ago. There was still a fair amount of muscle, which she was so thankful to have kept. She had spent ages trying to build that up, and it seemed that her efforts did not go to waste. 

But the rest of her body? That would need to be a work in progress. She didn't know what she was expecting, really. She didn't have a reliable food source for over three years, and she was expecting to look healthy, happy and normal? Fat chance, Hope.

She turned to look at her back, her forest green eyes scanning over the field of cuts and wounds there. She cried out as she saw the damage that had been done there. A long scar was visible from her side to the middle of her back, accompanied by a smaller one across the top of her back and shoulder. She had to purse her lips to keep herself from crying. She had gotten those when she was being captured by guards. They weren’t very gentle, to say the least.

The whiteness of the new scars contrasted with the rest of her muddy skin. It was really starting to get on her nerves, just how filthy she was. 

She used to be so beautiful, auburn hair done in perfect waves as her green eyes sparkled and glistened. Her cheeks were rosy from the autumn breeze as she smiled broadly at her dad, him congratulating her for getting something right. Her pearly wide teeth would shine in the morning sun as she released another arrow, it perfectly hitting the bulls-eye. 

She remembered the first time that she had managed to do that. She was nine years old, and she had been so frustrated that all of the others had been able to do it. She hated that there was something that she couldn't do, a skill that she couldn't master.

And what was worse, was that the other kids had been bragging to her that they were able to do something that she couldn't. But that only motivated her to do it more. She had spent ages in front of the target, shooting arrow after arrow after arrow at the poor piece of material.

She must have spent hours there, her hands wobbling as she tried to steady her wooden bow. It was only when the sun had began to set that she had managed to finally hit the target directly in the middle. She flashed her gorgeous grin at her father, who was beaming with pride from afar. 

She remembered when she used to smile at her dad. 

She remembered when she used to smile.

She sighed, her hands rubbing at her bare shoulders, running over the small scars that were marked there. Her head moved slightly, looking over at the tub of water waiting for her on her right. It didn't look very inviting, but she had not showed in ages, and she was desperate to get rid of the filth on her skin. 

She bathed, scrubbing away all of her dirt and grime that she had received from being in prison for all of those months. It felt so relieving, to actually see her real skin once again. She saw the birthmark that she had on her right shoulder, and a small smile spread onto her face at the sight of it.

It was pathetic, really, but it was just so nice to see that at least some things in her life would never change, no matter how crazy everything around her got. She pondered this as she scrubbed her underarms with the small bar of soap, thinking about how she had just accepted a deal with the crown prince. 

The crown prince, she frowned as she moved on to scrubbing her torso, what was his deal? He didn't seem like a complete dickhead, like she had initially thought. But he certainly wasn't friendly, either. And besides, he was the son and the firstborn of King Alaric. And with those man's genes, no good could come from it. The man was the worst person to ever walk the face of the earth, and Hope had met some pretty terrible people in her life.

After she had scrubbed every surface of her body, she roughly dried herself off. She looked back at herself in the mirror. Her skin was now relatively clean, it’s paleness gleaming in the moonlight supplied by the lone window in her chamber. Her hair was tangled and knotty, she had tried to run a comb through it, but there were too many tangles that trying to brush them made it even worse, but had been scrubbed clean from all of its dirt, so now that its slight redness shone through once again. Her eyes were still dull, lifeless. She was afraid that there was nothing that she could do about that part. 

She sighed, seeing the folded up piles of clothes that had been placed by the door. They were simple enough, and surprisingly soft, which Hope appreciated more than she'd like to admit. She collapsed onto her bed, closing her eyes almost instantly as fatigue washed over her like a wave in the ocean. It had been so long since Hope had slept on a proper comfortable bed. She had missed it.

With thoughts of doing her parents proud, the young assassin drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a life much better than this one.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope wakes up in her cell to be greeted with a jolly old friend of hers (Spoiler Alert: It's our favourite grumpy boy). Hope has a great discussion about age on the way to the Capital, tries on a dress, and meets the most beautiful girl she has ever seen in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Hope and Rafael are acting like they hate each other right now, but I assure you, a Hope and Rafael friendship will all be worth it, I promise. Also my uploading schedule is completely random, so please do not expect updates every day. I literally post them whenever. Please don't have a lot of faith in me, because I will find a way to let you down. Um chile anyways enjoy :)

The next morning, Hope woke up with a groan to sunlight beaming down on her clothed body. The bed was right next to the window, which was annoying to her at first, because it meant that she was freezing her ass off all night. But now that the sun had risen once again, she decided that being next to the window wasn't too bad. 

She shielded her eyes with her left hand as a small smile spread across her face. She hadn’t seen sunlight in ages. When she was in her cell in the prison, there was no sunlight there. She didn’t even realise how much she missed it until now. It was the little things you ended up missing the most down there, she had grown to realise over the years. 

She was interrupted from her little moment when a man coughed from the front of the room.

Hope, by instinct, was on full alert, hopping to her feet and becoming increasingly aware of her surroundings. Her eyes were peeled for anything that she could use as a weapon for the unwanted intruder. Being in prison made you on the lookout for any signs of trouble. 

“It’s only me,” An annoying voice called from the doorway.

Hope fought the urge to roll her eyes.

Rafael.

“Might I ask what you’re doing sneaking around in my chambers?” She asked, folding her arms over her frail chest, not wanting to admit that she was relieved it was him. She internally chuckled, imagining his reaction if she had voiced that thought aloud to him.

“I was ordered to get you,” Rafael said coldly, not even looking at her as he spoke curtly. He turned to grab something from behind him, throwing her a white shirt and some black pants. They weren’t very stylish, but they would have to do, “Get changed,” he instructed, “And then eat. We have a long day ahead of us.”

Hope frowned, reaching down to grab the clothes that Rafael had lazily thrown at her feet. Because, honestly, he could have at least TRIED to put in a little effort every now and then. But his last words had caught the young assassin's attention, stopping Rafael as he turned to leave, “What do you mean?” her auburn eyebrows were furrowed. 

“We’re beginning our journey to the Capital,” he explained drily. As per usual, his conversation skills continued to blow her away. Damn, he really didn’t like her. The feeling was mutual though, she had to admit. He was the Captain of the guards to King Alaric, and she was Hope fucking Marshall. Imagine if they actually got on? Dear god, imagine if they were FRIENDS?

Yuck, Hope shook her head, she really didn't want to think about that. Like, ever. The only thoughts that she wanted to have of Rafael was of her tying a rope around his neck and watching the colour drain from his face. Even thinking about that for too long made her feel grossed out, let alone the idea of a fucking friendship with him. 

“Oh,” Hope said shortly, which made Rafael scoff before turning to leave. She was really lacking her usual sense of wit, which she undoubtedly got from her father. 

“As charming as always,” she called as he closed and locked the door behind him. He once again refused to meet her eyes, almost like if he did, he would turn to stone. 

It was Hope's turn to scoff. It wasn't like she was Medusa. Her hair couldn't turn into something nice to look at, let alone snakes. She was never one to truly believe in mythology, however. 

She jumped back on her somewhat comfy bed, placing her hands on her stomach as she gazed up to the wall of the cell. She was finally getting to leave a cell, today. She knew that she was basically betraying her people by working for King Alaric and blah, blah, blah. But right now? All she could think about was getting to see the world again. The world that she had fallen in love with as a child. 

A ghost of a smile appeared on her face, sitting up so that she could walk over to the bundle of clothes and lazily put them on. She winced slightly as she brought her shirt over her head. There was a sore spot in her shoulder that had been bugging her for days now. And getting dragged around everywhere by the guards certainly didn't help with that. 

She jumped up to put her pants on properly, running her fingertips through her hair to try and at least make her hair look half decent. She had succeeded, kind of. 

Her eyes flew to the small plate of food that Rafael had put down for her before he left abruptly. Her stomach grumbled fiercely, like it had just been reminded that food was actually a thing that existed and it required to live. She nearly bolted towards the plate, scoffing down every last bit of that stale bread and cheese, her water getting the same treatment. A meal fit for an emperor, clearly.

She sat on the floor of the cell with a distant look in her eyes. She was leaving here. Today. 

-

Maybe that wasn't such a good thing, after all. As they began their journey to the castle, Hope was chained to Rafael’s horse the entire time. It sucked, having to be in a close proximity to Rafael at all times. She hadn't even known of him for more than 24 hours, and yet he found every single one of her nerves and managed to tug on them just right. He was really starting to do her head in.

But despite this, she was going to make the most of her situation. She glanced at her surroundings, the woods looking beautiful this time of the year. The leaves were shedding their lush green for a crisp orange, red and yellow. The colours blended beautifully with bare branches, the leaves that were once on them littered all over the cobbled road that the horses were trotting along. 

Hope longed to reach out and touch one of the leaves that had blissfully fallen from a mighty oak tree. It had been so long since she had seen a tree. But she knew that the guards would think that she was trying to escape, and she would preferably like her head attached to her torso for the rest of the morning. She would see how she was feeling at lunchtime. 

“How old are you?” She asked the Captain of the Guard, who was only a few feet ahead of her.

He simply raised an eyebrow, which, was quite honestly the most emotion he had ever expressed in her presence, so Hope was taking that as a win, “That is none of your concern.” He said drily, facing forwards one again.

Hope rolled her eyes, her shoulders slumped as she sighed mournfully, “Come on, Captain. This journey is boring enough as it is. Might as well make it a little bit of fun.”

“I’ll have to decline the offer of fun with a dangerous, notorious assassin that has killed many, many people,” he said sternly, but Hope waved it away.

“That has nothing to do with age,” she argued.

Rafael sighed, something that he tended to do a lot when it came to Hope, his horse picking up the pace a tad, “I’m twenty-two,” he said quickly, glancing at Hope briefly before turning and facing the road once again.

Hope nodded in appreciation, “I’m eighteen,” she told him, which made him raise his eyebrows in shock, including a failed attempt of trying to hide it shortly following.

“Young, right?” Hope said with a small smile, the largest that it was ever probably going to get ever again, “People usually think I’m in my twenties. I never really got that, but I guess I just have a mature face.”

Rafael ignored her, but she kept the conversation going. Perseverance was key, as her uncle once told her.

“How old were you when you became the Captain?” She questioned further, not really sure if she was still trying to get a rise out of him at this point.

“Twenty,” Rafael replied stiffly, not looking at Hope once again. This guy really had a giant stick up his ass, didn't he? 

Hope blew a stray piece of auburn hair from her face, huffing in annoyance, “You’re no fun, do you know that?” she asked him, her voice going higher to emphasise her point

“You…” he growled lowly, pointing his index finger in her general direction, “Are not my friend. You are a criminal that has slaughtered people.”

“Oh, and you haven’t?” she retorted before she could think better of it. She could've gotten burned alive just for saying that. 

But Rafael clenched his jaw, looking down with embarrassment and shame. Hope guessed she had hit a sore spot. She knew that it was a bit of a low blow, but in her defence, he started it when he brought up the whole 'you-kill-people-therefore-you-are-evil' point. She was simply finishing what he had started. 

“I-“ she started, before being interrupted by none other than Prince Milton Pain-In-The-Ass Saltzman.

“Lunch break,” he yelled, and all of the soldiers dismounted their horses and gathered around in a small circle, keeping their distance from Hope but still being close enough so that if she tried anything, they’d be able to stop her.

Hope rolled her eyes. She wasn’t THAT dumb. She wouldn't be one of the kingdom's most notorious assassin's if she was planning on running away, in the middle of a fairly open wood area, whilst she had the eyes of twenty soldiers, the Captain of the guards and the Crown Prince all staring at her. It was practically suicide. They should really give her more credit. 

She eyed Rafael the entire time. She hated the guy, sure. But she wondered about his dark past, and why he was so cold to everyone. 

It was probably because she was indeed a criminal, and that was that, but she had an itching feeling that it was something more. Maybe it was something she said? Something that she did? Hope knew that she shouldn't care, but a part of her did.

A lot of people told her growing up that her mother was extremely empathetic with people, so maybe Hope got it from her. Whatever. Empathy was a weakness. And Hope was a lot of things, but weak? Not one of them. Showing to other people you care is practically digging your own grave. In a kingdom like this, you had no time to care for anyone else. You need to look out for yourself and hope you don't die before you reach 30. 

But to her surprise, Prince Milton came to sit next to Hope, and Hope froze mid-bite of her meat.

“Can I help you?” She asked in a sickly-sweet tone. She really wasn't in the mood to pretend to be nice to the prince so he didn't order for people to chop her head off.

Milton rolled his eyes at her, making her clench her jaw, “I just wanted to say that it’s only a couple more hours until we get to the Capital, so you should charge up with as much food as you can.”

Hope rolled her shoulders in discomfort. No way was she going to say this to the prince, but she was beyond nervous. She had heard many things about the Capital, mainly from her father. He had lived there before King Alaric took over, and what was once a place full of love and kindness, was now a battlefield for the poor. The markets were filled with beggers and thieves, trying to grab whatever they could so that they wouldn't have to go to bed another night without a decent meal. 

She really, really didn't want to see that. One of the only benefits of her being in prison was the blissful unawareness of everything that was going on in the outside world. And now she would have to see up close what King Alaric was doing to the people that he was supposed to care about. 

Why why why did she have to get herself captured?? If she was more careful, then she wouldn’t be in this predicament right now.

“Thanks,” she said in a tone that was the furthest from grateful, and Milton mumbled something under his breath before getting up and going to sit with Rafael.

Hope just wanted the competition to begin already, so she could get this over and done with. So she could go and be with her dad, join the rebellion in the fight against the king. 

-

When they arrived at the Capital, Hope was so intimidated by the castle that she almost fell off of her horse, which, much to her displeasure, Rafael laughed at.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, regaining balance on her horse as they ventured further and further into the grounds of the castle. Seriously? All it took was for her to humiliate herself to get some emotion out of that guy? Colour her shocked. 

She nervously looked up to the castle. Wow, it was BIG. Like, really really big. What was she expecting? A cottage? 

She gulped softly, craning her neck to try and see the top of the castle, but she couldn’t.

It was a pearly white, every single inch of it. It glistened in the afternoon sun, making it look like a heap of gems crammed together. The windows were wide and arched, probably so whoever was looking through it could get a good look at the kingdom below. The towers spiralled up and up, and they seemed to go on forever. The roofs were spiked, so much so that Hope thought someone could be impaled on them. Though, maybe that was the idea.

She huffed in defeat as Milton dismounted his horse and turned to face all of them, his stupid face already pissing Hope off.

“Now that we’re all here,” he began to explain, his voice dripping with arrogance. The smug look on his face made it sooo punchable, “No one can know that Hope is Hope Marshall. The only people that know of her true identity are the people standing right here and my father. If any of you open your mouth and go blabbing to people are this, I will not be happy. And by not be happy, I mean I'll throw you in the dungeons for so long that when you come out, no one will recognise you anymore. Understood?”

“Understood,” the soldiers all said in unison, which almost made Hope laugh. The irony of the fact that they all had to keep her name a secret, even though that wasn't actually her real name at all because Hope Marshall was a fake name, was too much to bear.

As she dismounted her horse, Rafael made his way towards her, the frown on his face seeming permanent..

“Come on,” he said in a curt tone, “I’ll show you where your chambers are.”

-

After she had been introduced to her chambers, Hope had bathed once again and began to get ready. Milton had assigned an entire team of servants to her to help her with everything, and she was overwhelmed by the help. She usually had to do everything by herself. In fact, she had always had to do everything by herself. 

Rafael told her that in the afternoon, the entire court and the competitors were having a meeting to discuss the competition. She was to attend as ‘Myra Warnson’, a jewel thief who the prince had met many years ago when she tried to steal from him, and failed.

Hope snorted at that detail. Why on Earth would anyone- especially the Prince- choose a thief who tried AND failed to steal from him, to be the King's Champion? It made no literal sense to her. Then again, nothing about this was making sense to her. 

She had put herself into a forest green dress, the bodice decorated finely with golden embroidery that made it’s way down to the upper parts of the skirt, which then puffed out beautifully. The bodice really defined Hopes figure as her auburn hair was falling down naturally, making the assassin feel more like herself. This dress was way too fucking tight for her liking.

When she was just about done getting ready, there was a light knock on her door.

"Come in," she called in a breezy tone. She was feeling much better now that she was clothed and cleaned. She looked at her appearance in the mirror, and was still slightly disappointed at her skinny frame. She could still see her ribs through her chest, and her facial features still looked tired and worn, but she had decided that she was going to get in shape. It would help both for her mental health and to help her prepare for the competition.

She was beyond delighted about her hair, though. It had taken her and three other servants over an hour to brush through, but she could finally say that her hair was decent once again. It was her favourite thing about herself, and she finally had it back. It brought back a sense of confidence that only her hair could bring out of her. 

Rafael entered her chambers, giving the assassin a wary look at her sudden burst of happiness, "You're sounding rather chipper, Marshall."

"Oh, what a charmer you are, Waithe," she rolled her eyes teasingly. Wait, was that a smile she saw on Rafael's face? It couldn't possibly be, she was sure that he was made of stone. 

Even if she wasn't imagining it, it was gone in an instant. 

"I've come to inform you that in half an hour, there's a meeting with the King to discuss the competition." He told her formally, his chin up and once again avoiding her gaze on him. 

Hope's jaw dropped, whipping around to face the captain, her hair moving with her, "And you're just telling me this now?" she demanded. 

Rafael shrugged, a smile toying at his lips, "I thought that the element of surprise would do you some good." Was his response. 

Hope wanted to knock his teeth out and shove them forcefully down his throat so hard he choked on them so bad, "Well you thought wrong," she said venomously, shooting Rafael a dirty glare as she brushed her skirt hurriedly, trying to see if her hair looked alright in the large mirror that was placed in front of her.

Rafael shrugged once again, an amused expression plastered on his face, "Well, I don't care for what you think. You're a deadly assassin, your opinions don't matter to me. Nor your moral compass."

Hope put a hand on her heart mockingly, "You wound me, Waithe."

Rafael clenched his jaw, "Well, you know what they say, Marshall. Sticks and stones."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Hopes face, illuminating her features and making her forest green eyes glisten, matching perfectly with the dress that she wore.

Rafael cleared his throat after a moment of silence passed between the two, "Anyway, we should probably head down now. We don't want to be late."

"Oh, we wouldn't want that," she shook her head sarcastically, which made Rafael return to his stoic treatment of the girl. Almost like he had forgotten who he was talking to for a few moments. 

"Enough of the games," he said sharply, nearly looking into her eyes, but deciding against it last minute, "And lets head downstairs."

-

Hope swallowed thickly as she entered the grand ballroom of the castle. Of course, she was not there to dance, or to have fun, even. But this was a meeting between the competitors that Rafael was forcing her to attend. If it were up to her, she'd be sleeping right now.

She shot Rafael a poisonous look when they weren't being watched. This was all his fault. If he had just given her some more time to prepare for this, then she would have been able to come up with a story, be ready for questions that people were going to ask to her. Instead, she was having a panic attack, worrying about being found out. She hadn't even been here a day yet. 

"Remind me why I have to be here again," she asked through clenched teeth, smiling at people who stole a glance at her, nodding her head at them in greeting.

"Because," Rafael exclaimed, his grip on her upper arm tightening, "You need to scout out the competition. And besides, this is mandatory." He reminded her once again

Hope groaned, which earned her a sharp nudge in her side from Rafael.

"Ow," she hissed, but covered it with a smile as they made their way to the front.

"Don't complain, quit whining and for God's sakes start acting like Hope Marshall," he instructed before giving her a rare pat on the shoulder, "I'll be at the front with Milton. Do not speak to anybody, do not do anything. Just stand there." He glanced at her disapprovingly. 

Hope was about to respond before he whisked himself back into the crowd, reappearing when the fanfare began to boom in the echoing hall. She tried to look around her, she'd even take the stoic guards over standing here in the middle of the room with no one to talk to. 

She couldn't fucking believe Rafael expected her to stand there like a blubbering idiot. The NERVE that man had, honestly.

She understood what the fanfare was for when the large doors of the ballroom opened once again. For the first time since she arrived, she saw the King. King Alaric was his name, and she had been taught to hate him since birth. Not like it was hard, though. The guy was an absolute DICK. 

He was standing tall on a balcony, leaning down and observing all of the people in the room. His round eyes were scanning everyone swiftly, no doubt judging them all whether they were aware of it or not.

Hope couldn't help but roll her eyes.

What an idiot...

"If I may have your attention," he yelled, over all of the quiet chatter, "Thank you. I would like to welcome you to the Kingdom. I am very pleased to have you all here competing to be of service to me," his grin made Hope want to puke.

"My two daughters, Elizabeth and Josette, are also delighted that you are here." He beamed, which Hope did not like at all.

Hopes gaze shifted from the King to the two girls standing behind him.

One of them had icy-blonde hair, pulled up and curled in a formal manner with a permanent pout on her lips. Her cold blue eyes contrasted well with her dress, which was no doubt made with some of the finest fabrics in the city. Her sharp jawline moved from side to side as, like her father, she scanned the crowd standing before her. However, unlike her father, her gaze was neutral, simply acknowledging the fact that there were people in the ballroom.

But Hope's attention was not on that girl, for she was captured by the other girl’s beauty.

She had glossy, hickory brown hair that fell just past her shoulders, pulled up elegantly into a braided bun. However, some pieces of hair betrayed her and fell loosely past her head, its waviness close to perfection.

Her chocolate brown eyes bore into Hope's soul, filled with curiosity and interest for her surroundings.

Her face was tanned, cheeks pulled up into a smile as she looked down to all of them. Her facial features were soft, defining her cheekbones ever so slightly. It was clear that this girl was in good shape.

Her dress was a gorgeous light purple, sweeping the floor beneath her ever so slightly, revealing her flat shoes that she wore underneath.

Hopes breath hitched at the sight of her.

"And I invite you to join us for this feast. Let the competition commence!"

Cheers were yelled throughout the room, but none were heard from Hope.

She was too busy staring at the girl as she descended from the grand, marble staircase.

She was only broken from her trance when Rafael gently took hold of her elbow, forcefully shoving her back to reality.

"Hope?" He asked quietly, a frown on his face.

"I'm fine," she said absently, tearing her eyes away from the girl to shoot Rafael a swift smile.

"Tell me, Raf-"

"Don't call me Raf." He snapped, any sign of his softness disappearing. 

She ignored him, "Tell me, Raf. Who's that?" She asked, pointing to the girl in question.

Rafael scoffed, "Who, her? That's Princess Josette. She's the youngest daughter of King Alaric. She just turned eighteen," Rafael gave her a look, "Why do you ask?"

Hope shrugged, "No reason. Just curious."

Rafael raised his eyebrows, but didn't question any further. She spent the rest of the evening scouting out the competition, trying to put the beauty of the princess out of her mind as she tried to focus on what really mattered: Staying alive.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the lesbians meet :) it's gay as fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you that my uploading schedule is going to be all over the place, and this is what I mean :) Like seriously please do not have any faith in me, because I will let you down one way or another. I just suck at continuity in uploading, and I am sorry that this chapter is shitty, I am aware.

Hope woke up bright and early- before dawn, if we're being specific here- the next morning in order to train for the competition that she was being forced to partake in. How she had managed to get herself into this entire situation will remain a ridiculous mystery to the young assassin. And yet, here she was, sleeping in chambers the the Crowned fucking Prince had given her to sleep in. 

Life really worked in funny ways, didn't it?

Last night at the meeting, King Alaric announced that the competition would commence in 2 days. Not only did he say that they little to no time to prepare for this competition that was literally life or death for the majority of them, but he also said that the competitors should use that time to train.

And train, Hope planned to do. Obviously.

Hope had so much to do in the span of two days. She needed to work on her speed, agility, flexibility, stealth, stamina, weapon skills, eating and sleeping habits. Being trapped in a prison cell didn't exactly do much for those kinds of skills. It was a lot of sitting around and doing nothing, most of the time. Hope had tried to gain some of her strength back, but then a guard threatened to beat her up, and she didn't really fancy getting a black eye to match with her chaffed wrists, so she eventually gave up on that. 

She thought about this as she jogged through the Palace gardens, trying to keep her breathing steady as she took in the cool, crisp Autumn air around her.

Her pants and shirt fits her breezily as she jogged, darting around the Palace tracks as the sun began to rise. It had been a while since she last ran, and she needed to take some time for her body to fully get into it. Unfortunately, it was taking a lot longer than Hope had hoped.

She looked around at the gardens that she was running in. They were absolutely beautiful. She had to admit, for a guy who was (without a doubt) the biggest asshole that Hope that ever heard of, he had excellent taste in gardens. If she was being honest, Hope doubted that he had even designed these himself. Like everything else in his life, he probably got someone else to do it for him. 

There were rows upon rows of the tallest trees that Hope had ever laid her eyes on, colours of red, amber, yellow and brown mixing together beautifully, reminding Hope once again that Autumn had arrived. The leaves scattered the floor, and if Hope hadn't seen a little hole in the trail that it had made, then she wouldn't have even known that the pathways were made out of cobblestone. 

After roughly 30 minutes of running, she doubled over and fell to her knees by a old oak tree, gasping for breath as her lungs were ablaze. She almost choked from the lack of air, wheezing and coughing. She knew she was pushing herself too hard, but she couldn't stop. The competition was too soon for her to take things slow. She had to get better at everything, and she had little time to do it.

She panted roughly, wiping the sweat that was forming on her forehead with the back of her sleeve. trying to ease her breath back to its normal state. She pressed her forehead against the bark of the tree, closing her eyes shut as she tried to steady her breath. She had taken Rafael's advice with not eating before going on a run, because if she did, she probably would be throwing up her guts right about now.

That thought was enough to put a small smile on her face, even though it felt like her lungs had been set on fire. She had only known Rafael for a couple of days, but she knew that if she was starting to take his advice now, then there must be something mentally wrong with her. He was a dick. A correct dick, but the sentiment still remained. 

Once her breathing had calmed, she allowed her body to relax. It was too early for anyone to see her show signs of weakness anyway.

Well, that was until...

"You're quite fast, you know."

Hope's head whipped around in the area where the voice came from, trying to locate the source.

Her heart flipped in her rib cage when she saw who it was. It was Princess Josette. But what was she doing up so early in the morning, and in a light grey long-sleeved shirt and dark pants? In Hope's opinion, she still looked absolutely stunning, but still. That was besides the point.

And there Hope stood, in the most ugliest thing she could have possibly chosen to wear that morning, in front of a girl that she was pretty positive was the most beautiful girl that she had ever seen in her eighteen years of living. She had sweat sticking to her forehead, her auburn hairs clinging to the sides of her face in mismatched ways, her face a pasty colour that didn't do anything to help her appearance. 

Hope cleared her throat, suddenly self-conscious of her appearance in front of the girl, "Princess Josette," she managed to get out, her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment. But she could probably blame that on the running. She wiped at her forehead, trying to rid the sweat that kept gathering on it. Jesus Christ, how much did she run??

The princess waved that away with a simple gloved hand gesture, which was performed elegantly, "Ugh, I hate it when people call me that. Please, call me Josie." Her voice sounded posh, but not so posh that it could be classified as snooty. 

Oh my God, she seemed so casual and comfortable. 

Hopes shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension leaving them at the tone of the princess' voice. She tried to give the princess a weak smile. She was surprised that she had lasted this long, to be fair. If this was last night, she probably would have just yelped and kept on running, lungs be damned. 

"You're the only female competitor, is that right?" Josie questioned, which Hope nodded to.

"Yup. So no pressure," she said with a lazy smile, but then realised who she was talking to and rearranged her face. Oh my god, did I really just say that? She thought internally, I'm talking to the princess of the fucking kingdom, and I just used the word 'yup'. Abysmal, Hope Mikaelson, honestly.

"Oh, don't be so modest, I'm sure you'll do brilliantly," The princess assured her with a confidence that Hope wished she possessed to try and at least continue this conversation without making a complete tit of herself in the process. 

"If I may ask, what are you doing up so early, and wearing, that type of clothing?" Hope asked, pointing to Josie's clothes. Then, she clamped her mouth back shut. Had she not learned her lesson from literally five seconds ago? She was talking to the princess, she had no right to ask her those kind of questions. The princess' casualness was really throwing Hope off, and it was showing. 

"I tend to get nightmares, and I couldn't get back to sleep. I usually take morning strolls in the park, and I didn't feel like going through all the effort of dressing up. And I hate wearing those types of dresses, they're so uncomfortable."

Hope nodded her head in understanding of the statement, "Right? I haven't worn a dress in months and it was painful, I can't possibly imagine what it would be like to wear one almost every single day."

Josie's lips spread into a warm smile, "No one ever speaks to me like that. So...casually."

"Oh...I-I I'm sorry-" Hopes mind spun into a panic zone. Of course she had to fuck everything up and step out of line to the cutest girl she had ever seen in her life! She kept falling into a cycle of making every single mistake in the history of mistakes in front of this girl. She was one of the best assassins in the kingdom, and in one conversation with the princess, she had managed to embarrass herself beyond belief. 

"No, no," Josie interrupted Hope's rambling, putting her palms up to try and stop Hope spiralling even more, "Don't be. It's a good thing. A great thing, actually."

Hope blushed at that, biting down on her lower lip as she looked at the princess. Her initial thoughts of princesses being snobbish had vanished, and had been replaced with thoughts of how beautiful and kind Josie was. Which was unusual for someone of her social status. 

When Hope had imagined the other children of the king, she had imagined clones of Milton. Snobby, arrogant, full of themselves, a terrible fashion sense. But Josie didn't seem to be any of these, quite the opposite, in fact. She seemed calm and sweet and caring, nothing like what her father was like. 

"I just thought I'd inform you that I know who you are, my father told me." Josie said with ease, like they were discussing the weather or their favourite book. 

Hope's heart skipped a beat with dread. The princess would definitely stay away from her now. She had grown a massive reputation of herself whilst assassinating all of the people who deserved a fate even worse than death. She was lucky that the King didn't know who her parents were, because if he did, then she would be hanging by a Gallows tree by now.

If the princess knew who she was, why was she standing there, talking to her right now? How wasn't she certain that Hope was going to strangle her and make her dangle over the branches of the tree that she was still awkwardly leaning against?

"You have every right to hate me," Hope mumbled, her eyes now glued to the floor that she had been admiring not ten minutes ago. She never enjoyed killing people, in fact most of the time she had no choice in the matter, but that didn't change the fact that she did it. She stared into their eyes and plunged a dagger into their chests. 

And no apology could ever change that. A life had been taken, and she was the one to take it. It was for the cause, she kept having to tell herself, but each time she did it, it felt like a piece of her soul, her morality, was going away with her victim. 

"I...I don't. I am well aware of how the assassin system works. No doubt you had no choice but to do it, am I correct?" The princess asked, arching her perfectly plucked eyebrow.

Hope blinked at the princess, her eyes leaving the floor to look at her in bewilderment and disbelief, "Uh-uh-uh, y-yeah." She stumbled for words, frankly at a loss for them. Surely the princess knew that assassins murdered people, right? 

Josie smiled brightly once again, taking a step closer to the young assassin, "Then what is there to hate?" she asked, like the question was perfectly logical. 

Hope's lips parted, "The fact that I've killed people?" her eyes squinted as she said the question, still not sure if this was actually real or not. 

"Involuntarily," Josie added, which made Hope scoff with amusement.

"What gave it away?" she teased, like she was bantering with an old friend. 

Josie pretended to contemplate her answer, her bright smile growing impossibly wider, "The way that you look away from me in absolute dread when I mentioned your profession?"

Hope shook her fist in the air in fake mocking, "I really need to learn how to hide that better."

To Hope's shock and surprise, Josie let out a small giggle at that, "Don't worry, I'm sure you're great at hiding it usually. I'm just skilled at reading people."

"Even if you've never met them before?" Hope dangerously questioned.

"Especially if I've never met them before," the smile was back on the princess' face, "It's not too difficult to tell what a person is thinking or feeling, you just need to look for the right things."

Hope's opened her mouth to say something back to the princess, asking her how to do so, but then a voice spoke from behind them.

"Marshall, what the hell are you doing out of your room, and talking to her Majesty?" Rafael all but barked into the early morning air.

Hope spun away quickly at Rafael's words, shoving herself off of the tree and stepping away from the princess, almost as if to show that she hadn't harmed her or anything. She scrambled for words to say to the Captain, "I...uh...I'm...just...uh..."

Josie laughed joyously, facing Rafael, "Captain Waithe, do not punish her. She did nothing wrong." She assured him, stepping closer to the Captain of the Guard easily.

"She left her room in the middle of the night, unaccompanied. She could've killed you-" Rafael narrowed his eyes at the princess.

"You and I both know that that's a lie," Josie interrupted. Hope had to admire her boldness, as much teasing as she gave Rafael, she would never have the guts to stand up to him like that. Ever. Well, it depended on the mood she was in.

"But, your Highness-" Rafael tried to protest.

"I know, Rafael, you're just doing your job. But I can assure you, she and I were merely having a conversation." She placed a kind hand on his forearm, emphasising her point.

"Well that's lovely," Rafael spat out bitterly, shooting an icy glare at Hope over the princess' shoulder. Hope could only roll her eyes at him, "But I need to take Ms Marshall back to her chambers, where she is supposed to be." His eyes found Josie's once again.

Hope couldn't help but sigh to herself at that, picking out dirt from underneath her fingernails out of boredom, wanting this to be over with already. She had already embarrassed herself enough. 

Josie nodded, "I understand," she turned to Hope, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Hope." She extended her hand out, intending for Hope to shake it. It was the first time she had addressed Hope by her name, and her name sounded beautiful when Josie said it. Anything sounded beautiful when Josie said it.

She shakily reached forwards and took Josie's hand, shaking it lightly as a light blush flew to her cheeks at their contact. Her hand was soft and warm as she took it in her own.

Hope quickly pulled away, humiliation seeping into her slowly as Rafael placed a hand on the small of her back and 'lead' her away. Hope was surprised that he had let her talk to the princess again, let alone touch her.

When they were out of sight from Josie's eyes, Rafael grabbed Hope's forearm in a bruising, tenacious grip, which made Hope gasp from surprise.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He hissed, grip tightening even harder.

"I...it wasn't my fault. She approached me, and who am I to refuse the princess? The King?" She retorted to him, feeling the need to defend herself and her actions.

Rafael scoffed, grip loosening, "You don't get it, do you?" he seethed through gritted teeth.

A silence fell between the pair, and Hope raised an eyebrow in questioning to the Captain of the Guard.

"You," he jabbed Hope in the chest, "Are an assassin. One of the most notorious ones in the kingdom, might I add. And she, is the princess. The daughter of King Alaric. If anyone else had caught you talking to her, you would have been shot on sight. So you count yourself lucky that I came to your chambers early to try to wake you, and found you down here instead of someone else."

Hope pursed her lips, her forest green eyes looking down at the leaf-covered ground. Of course he didn't trust her. How could he? She was an assassin, for god's sakes. 

"Okay," she finally spoke up. She didn't apologise, she wasn't one to apologise. Especially not to Rafael.

Rafael grumbled something that Hope couldn't hear, and tugged her back to her chambers. Hope was internally smiling, however, because she met someone that didn't want to kill her or treated her with hostility. And it was, of all people, the princess.

-

It had been a couple of days since Hope and Josie had met, and Hope hadn't seen her since. She had a sneaking suspicion that Rafael had something to do with it, but she never questioned it. Let her rephrase that; she didn't DARE question it.

Of course, Josie was the princess after all, so she would have been busy anyway. And, as Rafael had helpfully pointed out to her the other day, she was an assassin. In what world could an assassin and a princess peacefully interact? None, was the answer.

Since that morning, Rafael had kept a sharper eye on Hope and her whereabouts. This meant that he was all the company that she had most times. So, not only was he an annoying little shit that knew how to get on her nerves all the time, but now he was an annoying little shit that knew how to get on her nerves all the time that was constantly around her. 

Hope, being Hope, had tried to make the most of the situation, asking Rafael both relevant and random questions about both the tournament and the kingdom. A few examples being:

"How many people will I be competing against?"

"Do you know if Milton is a fan of soft cheese?"

"Will I get a trophy if I win?"

"What kind of weapons should I use?"

"Do you think green compliments my skin tone more than blue? Or do you think the blue one's better?"

The list could go on for days, if she was being honest.

Rafael, of course, was being no fun about it. He would either grunt in response, or just stay silent. If it was a relevant question, he would answer quickly and curtly before going back to brooding.

It was on her fourth day of being at the palace when she had given up with asking him questions. He clearly wasn't one for fun, Hope wasn't sure he had even heard of the word before. 

But, questions about the princess had been swarming around in her mind for days now, the more time she left them, the more time they had to fester in her brain, making her want to know the answers even more. And Rafael wasn't breaking.

And here they were, in training, for the first time since she had arrived, about to fight. So this was the perfect opportunity to find out the answers to the questions swarming her brain.

The room that they were in was empty, being bare with nothing but a rack of weapons. Rafael had walked directly towards the rack and picked up a sword, turning back to Hope.

"No one's around, so you can fight with your full potential." His eyes shone with the challenge as she untied her cloak and tossed it behind her, it landing on the floor with a small noise. "Pick one," he said, gesturing to the weapon's rack, “Let’s see if you can actually back up your claims of being so great at sword-fighting.” He said, but Hope didn't take the bait.

All the weapons were finely made, and glistened in the sunlight that was supplied by the many open windows. Hope eliminated her options one by one, seeing each weapon for what sort of damage she might do to the captain’s face.

Her heart beat rapidly as she ran a finger across the blades and handles of each. She found herself torn between the hunting daggers and a lovely rapier with an ornate bell-guard. 

The sword whined as she drew it from the stand and held it in her hands. It was a good blade—strong, smooth, light. They wouldn’t let her have a butter knife on her table, but they gave her access to this? Pathetic, honestly. 

Why not wear him down a bit? She thought to herself, grinning internally. This was finally her chance to kick his ass, and boy was she going to enjoy it. Her emotions and anger had been building up for days, and they were giving her an outlet.

Rafael tossed his cape on top of hers, drawing his sword. “On your guard!” He moved into defensive position, and Hope looked at him dully, her expressions blank.

Who do you think you are? What sort of person says, “On your guard”?

“Aren’t you first going to show me the basics?” she said quietly enough for only him to hear, her sword dangling from where it was positioned at her side. She rubbed the hilt, her fingers contracting on the cool surface. “I was in prison for a year, you do realise. I could have easily forgotten.” “From the amount of killing that went on in your section of the cells, I highly doubt you’ve forgotten a thing.” “That was with a sharpened butter knife,” she said, her smile growing feral. “All I had to do was crack a man’s head open or hurl the sharp edge into his stomach.” Thankfully, none of the other Champions paid them any heed. “If you consider that sort of gracelessness equal to swordsmanship . . . what sort of fighting do you do, Captain Waithe?” She put a spare hand over her heart and closed her eyes for emphasis. 

With a growl, the Captain of the Guard lunged.

With a turn of her arm she brought the sword into blocking position, her legs bracing for the impact as steel struck steel. The noise was strange, somehow more painful than receiving the blow, but Hope thought little of it when he charged again and she met his weapon, parrying with ease. Her arms ached as they were shaken from their slumber, but she continued to deflect and parry.

Swordplay was like dancing—certain steps must be followed or else it would fall apart. Once she heard the beat, it all came rushing back. The other competitors faded away into shadows and sunlight.

“Good,” he said through his clenched teeth, blocking her thrust as she forced him to take a defensive stance. Her thighs burned and ached, but she pushed through. “Very good,” he breathed. He was pretty good himself—better than good, actually. Not that she’d tell him that.

With a clang, the two swords met, and they pressed each other’s blades. He was stronger, and she grunted at the force required to hold her sword against his. But, strong as he might be, he was not as quick.

"By the way, Captain, I've been meaning to ask you. What's the deal with me not seeing the Princess at all over the past few days? Did you have a hand in that?"

She withdrew and feinted, her feet jabbing and flexing on the floor with perfect grace. Caught off-guard, he only had time to deflect, his parry lost in his size. And she is aware that you all have dirty minds, so she didn't mean what you probably thought she meant by 'size'. 

"Don't know what you're talking about," he denied.

Angry about his lies, she surged forward, her arm coming down again and again, twisting and turning, loving the smooth ache within her shoulder as the blade slammed against his. She was moving fast—Faster than she had ever done in her life. Faster than she had done during training with her father, or with anyone else from the Rebellion.

He kept up, and she allowed him to advance before reclaiming the position. He tried to catch her unawares with a blow to the face, but her anger awoke as her elbow snapped up and deflected, slamming into his fist and forcing it down.

Rafael grunted at that, and Hope grinned in victory, giving him a hand to help him up. But before he did, he pulled the hand, catching her off guard and making her tumble to the ground, yelping as she did so.

“I win,” he breathed, a wicked grin growing onto his stupid face. Hope hated him. 

She pushed herself onto her elbows. “You had to resort to tripping me. That’s hardly winning at all.”

“I’m not the one on the floor,” he said with a smirk, which made Hope glare at him.

“You have the skills,” Rafael said, “but some of your moves are still undisciplined.”

"Yeah no shit," Hope snarled, but she couldn't stay hostile for long. It was too exhausting.

Rafael chuckled, "Come on, that's enough fighting for one day, the first official meeting is tomorrow. So rest, prepare yourself, and eat something. You still look like a twig."

Hope growled lowly before picking herself up off of the floor and heading to her chambers once again. The second she thought that, hey, maybe Rafael wasn't so bad, he resorted to be an asshole again. At least the princess was as kind as Hope thought she was. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope meets her competition, her and Rafael bicker again (what's new) and she sees the Princess once again, and manages to make a tit out of herself, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry, it's been a while! I've been extremely busy studying for exams, but I managed to find the time to get the next chapter together. I hope you enjoy it! Please leave your thoughts down below, I love to hear people's opinions. Have a lovely day :)

It was the next day, and all of the Champions were being called to the training room once again. Hope made sure to be early, and in 'appropriate clothing', as Rafael liked to call it. That consisted of a white t-shirt and black trousers, her feet bare. 

She entered the training room, eyes scanning around as she did so. She didn't know any of her fellow competitors, but she did see one called Malivore, who was competition for everyone located in the room.

He was bulky, with brawny arms and a broad chest, his muscles were so big that you could probably see them from a different continent, he had a stubbly chin, and a resting frowney-face, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Hope rolled her shoulders as she looked at him warily. She knew that he would be tough to beat. But she'd find a way to make it work. She always did.

Once everyone was in the room (she assumed), a man bashed a staff against the marble floor, making everyone face his way. Her eyes found a tall, strong-looking man standing in the centre of the room.

“Your attention now,” the man called. Hope looked to Rafael, who nodded sternly, leading her as they joined the twenty other competitors encircling the man. “I’m Kaleb, Weapons Master and a judge of this competition. Of course, His Majesty, our king Alaric, is the final judge of you idiotic lot, but I’ll be the one determining every day if you’re fit to be his Champion.”

He patted his sword hilt, and Hope had to admire the beautiful woven gold hilt, “I’ve been Weapons Master here for fifteen years, and lived in this castle for fifteen more than that. I’ve trained many a lord and knight—and many a would-be Champion of the kingdom. It will be very hard to impress me.” He looked at a few people in particular. 

“The king has already told you all there is to know about this competition,” Kaleb said, holding his hands behind his back., clasping them together as he looked among all of them proudly, “But I figured you lot are itching to know more about each other.” He pointed his index finger at Malivore. “You. What’s your name, occupation, and where do you hail from? And be honest about it—I know none of you are bakers and candlestick makers.”

Malivore’s insufferable grin returned, which made Hope roll her eyes, “Malivore, soldier in the king’s army. I hail from the Mystic Falls Hills.” Of course he did. She’d heard tales of the people that lived there, and what they had to do to survive, and seen a few of them up close, seen the fierceness in their eyes. Many of them had rebelled against Saltzman—and most wound up dead. What would his fellow hill-dwellers say if they could see him now? She gritted her teeth; what would the people of her town say if they could see her now? And what of her parents? Her thoughts constantly threaded back to their opinions of the king's tyranny, and how she was allowing him to treat many people like garbage.

Kaleb, however, didn't seem to give a rat's ass about where he came from, and didn’t even give a nod before he pointed to the man to Malivore’s right. Hope immediately took a liking towards him and his disinterest to people boasting about themselves. “And you?”

A slender, tall man with thinning brown hair surveyed the circle and sneered. “Ryan Clarke. Master Thief of Melisande.” Master Thief! That man? Of course, she realised, his reed-thinness probably aided in slipping into houses. Perhaps it wasn’t a bluff.

One by one, the nineteen other competitors introduced themselves. There were four more seasoned soldiers—all of them thrown out of the army for... questionable behaviour, which must have been truly questionable, given that the king’s army was notorious for ruthlessness. Then there were the three other thieves—including the dark-haired, grey-eyed Landon Kirby, whom she’d actually heard of in passing, and who’d been giving her such charming smiles all morning. The three mercenaries looked ready to boil someone alive, and then there were the two shackled murderers.

One of these murderers was called Connor Fletchin. He looked surprisingly plain, with mousy brown hair, tan skin, and average height, though Hope had trouble not staring at his scar-flecked mouth. The other murderer was Roman Sienna, who’d gone for three years under the name Mansen, for the weapon he’d used to torture and hack apart temple priestesses. It was a wonder they hadn’t executed either man, though from their tanned skin, she guessed they’d spent the years since their captures toiling under the sun in the deserts before coming here to compete.

Next came two scarred, silent men who seemed to be cronies of some far-off warlord, and then the five assassins.

She immediately forgot the names of the first four: a gangly, haughty boy; a hulking brute; a disdainful runt of a man; and a snivelling, hawk-nosed prat who claimed he had an affinity for knives. They weren’t even in the Rebellion- though she doubted her father would ever allow them in. The Rebellion wouldn't trust them, and they would probably switch sides to save their sorry little lives. Seriously, what was the point of fighting for a cause like the Rebellion's if you're going to run at the first sign of danger?

She’d have to keep an eye on them, but at least they weren’t the Silent Assassins from the windswept dunes of the Red Desert. Those would be worthy of her—they’d make her sweat a bit. She’d spent a month training with them one burning summer, and her muscles still ached at the memory of their gruelling exercises. Her father had encouraged her to spend her time with them, along with a few of the other young rebels. He had claimed that it would benefit all of them with the war that was inevitably brewing, that it would 'assist her later on in life'. So that was a fucking lie, Dad.

The last assassin, who called himself Jed, made her pause. He was slight and short, with the kind of wicked face that made people quickly look away. He’d entered the room wearing shackles, and only had them removed when his guards—all five of them—gave him a stern warning. Even now, they stood nearby, watching him relentlessly. As he introduced himself, Jed flashed an oily smile, eyeing her body up and down. She willed herself to hold his hungry gaze. 

She knew that she was the only woman in the room right now, and that was automatically a disadvantage. Men, when it came down to it, were all predatory monsters, eager for only two things in their life: sex and violence. They all thought with their dicks, which was a statement that she could confidently say after many encounters with the other sex. She was already preparing herself for all of the sexist comments that were going to be sent her way as the competition progressed.

But, there was one advantage to be the only woman in the room right now. They would underestimate her. They would think that she would be out of the competition within the first few days. They wouldn't expect her to be the best of the best, and she could work that to be in her favour. She tried to fight off the small smirk making it's way to her face as she thought about that.

“And you?” Kaleb barked at her, cutting into her thoughts, pulling her back into the room.

“Myra Warnson,” she said, holding her chin high. “Jewel thief from Bellhaven.”

Some of the men snickered at her words, and she clenched her teeth, making them grind against each other, making an awfully wretched noise. They’d stop their laughing if they knew her true name, if they knew that this “jewel thief” could skin them alive without a knife. They'd be crying if they knew who her parents were- who her father was. The joy of that thought was enough to allow her to push through their poorly-hid chuckles.

“Fine,” Kaleb said, waving a hand in a 'you'll have to do' way. “You all have five minutes to gear up and do whatever the hell you need to do. Then we’re on a mandatory run to see how fit you are. Those of you who can’t run the distance go home, or back to whatever prison your sponsors found you rotting in. Your first Test is in five days; consider us merciful it’s not sooner.”

With that, everyone scattered, the Champions murmuring to their trainers about whatever competitor they deemed the biggest threat. Malivore or Jed, most likely. Certainly not a jewel thief from Bellhaven. Rafael remained beside her, watching the Champions stride off. She hadn’t spent eight years building a reputation and a year in the disgusting prisons to be disregarded like this. “If I have to call myself a jewel thief again—”

Rafael raised his brows at the young assassin, “You’ll do what, exactly?” he challenged.

Hope scoffed, folding her arms across her chest, “Do you know how insulting it is to pretend to be some nobody thief from a small city in Fenharrow?”

He stared her down, quiet for a moment. “Are you that arrogant?” She bristled, but he went on. “It was foolish to spar with you yesterday. I’ll admit that I hadn’t realised you’d be that good. I had assumed that you would have been out of practise, all of those months wasting away in a prison cell."

Hope opened her mouth to retort at the Captain of the Guard, but he continued, "Thankfully, no one noticed. And do you want to know why, Myra?” He took a step closer, his voice lowering. “Because you’re some pretty little girl. Because you’re a nobody jewel thief from a small city in Fenharrow. Look around.” He half-turned to the other Champions. “Is anyone staring at you? Are any of them sizing you up? No. Because, to them, you’re not real competition. Because you don’t stand between them and whatever freedom or wealth they’re looking for.”

“Exactly! It’s insulting!” Hope argued, and Rafael disregarded her feelings with a stern look (which was something he seemed to be doing a lot of lately).

“It’s smart, that’s what it is. And you’re going to keep a low profile throughout this entire competition. You’re not going to excel, and you’re not going to tease and mock and better those thieves and soldiers and unknown assassins. You're not going to show off, or insult anyone. You're certainly not going to do anything that draws any kind of attention to yourself, even if it harms your precious pride."

Rafael went on with his lecture, "But do you know what you ARE going to do? You’re going to stay solidly in the middle, where no one will look your way, because you’re not a threat, because they’ll think that you’ll be eliminated sooner or later, and they should focus their attention on getting rid of bigger, stronger, faster Champions like Malivore. You're going to allow an torments they throw your way about how 'rubbish' you are, or how you're going to be out of the running in a while. You're going to let them think that they're better than you, even if that means embarrassing yourself in the process. And you'll do this without complaint, which, for you, I know will be extremely hard," he sassed.

“But you’re going to outlast them,” Rafael continued, “And when they wake up on the morning of the final duel and find that you are their opponent, and that you have beaten them, the look on their faces will make all of the insults and lack of attention worthwhile.” He extended his hand to lead her outside. “So, what do you have to say about that, Myra Warnson?”

“I can look out for myself,” she said lightly, taking his hand. “But I have to say that you’re rather brilliant, Captain. So brilliant, actually, that I might give you one of the jewels I plan to steal from the queen tonight.”

Rafael chuckled, and they strode outside to where the running contest awaited, "I'd like to see you try, Warnson."

She arched an eyebrow at him, "Really? Because I could have sworn that you just admitted to underestimating me, Waithe."

"Mention that to anyone, and there won't be any competition for you to pretend to be shit in. You'll be on the streets before you can make some stupid comment about my outfit."

Hope had to snort at that, knowing that if she was going, he was damn well going to go with her, just to make sure that she didn't murder anyone on her way out.

Her laughter was short-lived, however, as she looked out in front of her, and saw all of the competitors preparing to, quite literally, run for their lives. 

Oh, this was going to be a disaster.

-

And a disaster it was. Her lungs burned like a blazing fire in her rib cage, and her legs were like lead, but she persevered, and kept running, kept her position in the middle of the pack of Champions. Kaleb, Rafael, and the other trainers—along with three dozen armed guards—followed them around the game park on horseback. It took all of her strength not to sneer at them as they smirked at their obvious pain.

Some of the Champions, Jed and Connor included, had been given long chains. She supposed it was a privilege that Rafael hadn’t locked her up, too. He would've made an awful show of it, mocking her for her restraints and how she wouldn't possibly be able to punch him in his stupid face with the metal dragging her arms to the floor. Tosser. 

But, not really to her surprise, Malivore led the pack, and was nearly ten yards in front of the rest of them. How could he possibly be that fast? She thought to herself, almost in awe of the muscular idiot, before scowling at herself at the idea of praising him. She didn't think that that kind of speed should be physically possible. Maybe he took some kind of mixture that made him faster? Was that even a thing? Could someone do that?

The sound of crunching leaves and laboured breathing filled the warm autumn air, and Hope kept her gaze on the damp and gleaming dark hair of the thief in front of her. One step after another, one breath in, one breath out. Breathe—she had to remember to keep breathing, and to keep it steady. She tried to pace herself, making sure that she wasn't falling behind, but she didn't get any faster than what was considered 'average'. 

Ahead, Malivore turned a corner, heading north—back toward the castle. Like a flock of birds, they followed him. One step after another, never slowing down. Let them all watch Malivore, let them plot against him. She didn’t need to win the race to prove she was better—she was better without any kind of validation that the king could give her! She missed a breath, and her knees wobbled, but she kept upright. The run would be over soon. Soon. She just wanted it to be over and done with so she could retreat to the safety and comfort of her chambers.

Her bed. Jesus, her bed. It was the comfiest thing that she had ever had the pleasure of sleeping on. Much better than the floor, which had been her bed too many a time. Thoughts of being back in her bed was quite literally the only thing that was getting her through this stupid fucking race.

What was the point of this, anyway? Surely they already knew that they were decent at running. Why else would they be here, if they weren't? So many questions, with no answers to be provided for her. 

She hadn’t even dared to look behind her to see if any had fallen. She could feel Rafael’s eyes on her, though, burning through the back of her skull, reminding her to keep in the middle. At least he had that much faith in her. She thought he was just going to frown at her the entire time, so this was a step up.

The trees parted, revealing the field that lay between the game park and the stables. The end of the path. Her head spun, and she would have cursed at the stitch that lanced through her side had she had any breath to do so. She had to stay in the middle. Stay in the middle. She kept reminding herself.

Malivore cleared the trees and raised his arms above his head in victory. He ran a few more feet, slowing his pace to cool down, and his trainer cheered for him. Hope’s only response was to keep her feet moving. Only a few yards left. The light of the open field grew brighter and brighter as it approached. Stars flashed before her eyes, swarming in her vision. She had to stay in the middle. Years of training with her father and many other soldiers had taught her the dangers of giving up too easily.

"Never give up," her father's voice rang in her head, "If you do, then you're just giving them what you want. And you must never do that, Hope. It shows weakness."

And the last thing on this planet Hope wanted to be was weak. She despised being weak. It showed vulnerability and feebleness, two things that she was not a huge fan of.

Then, she was through the trees, and the open field surrounded her in an explosion of space and grass and blue sky. The men in front of her slowed to a stop. It was all she could do to keep from sinking to her knees, but she made her legs slow, slow, slow, made her feet walk, made herself take breath after breath as the stars continued bursting before her eyes.

“Good,” Kaleb said, reining his horse and surveying whoever had first returned. “Get water. We’ve got more training after this.”

Are you actually fucking joking-

-

Hope was so exhausted from the run that she planned to return to her room and rest for an eternity, Rafael and his stupid rules be damned. But that plan was put on hold when, on the way to her rooms, she bumped into the Princess.

"Princess," she bowed immediately, which made Josette laugh. Her ears pricked up at the sound, slight surprise making its way into her as her forest green eyes were met with warm chocolate brown ones. The Princess had a broad smile on her face as she looked at Hope. 

"For the last time, Hope. Call me Josie." She huffed, leaving no room for complaint on the matter. Hope didn't dare correct her over the fact that she wasn't supposed to call her her real name. 

She was dressed a lot more formally than she was the last time the duo had met. She was wearing a lovely lilac silk dress with pale pink lace accents and pearl beading. Hope had to admit, she looked stunning. Hope felt more underdressed than ever in her sweaty clothing. Josie constantly had that effect, outdoing Hope in every department. Josie seriously would beat her anytime, though, even if Hope had taken a million beauty potions.

"Sorry," she said weakly, forcing a smile on her worn lips. She was so fucking tired, all the energy drained from her body, but a conversation with the princess was a rare opportunity, so she had to embrace it.

"Why are you...you know..." Josie glanced up and down Hope's figure, pointing out how sweaty she was with a delicate flourish of her hand. 

"Oh," Hope subconsciously fixed her hair, dark auburn strands sticking to the sweaty frame of her face, "We were doing a running test. And now my throat's all dry and my legs are exhausted and my lungs feel like they're about to explode and-" she cut herself off, realising she was rambling. It was like she was a magnet to making a fool out of herself when it came to the Princess.

Josie giggled though, a warm, bubbly, inviting noise, "If you're thirsty, you could come to my room and get some water?" She suggested, as thought the suggestion was something extremely casual. 

Hope wanted to say yes immediately, her scratchy throat aching with the lack of water it was receiving. But, then she remembered the last time she spent time with the princess, Rafael didn't let her speak to anyone for days. If he found out they had even spoken, he'd physically explode into a thousand pieces. As enticing as that thought was, it would just be digging the hole she found herself in even more. 

"I would love to, except, Rafael..." she trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. She assumed everyone knew how big the stick that Rafael had lodged up his ass was. 

Josie waved her away, "It's fine, the captain will understand once I speak with him."

"I doubt he will," she muttered to the princess, and the princess swallowed lightly, "You'd be surprised how angry he gets at the smallest things."

Josie scoffed, an action that took Hope by surprise, "You don't have to tell me that. I was raised with Rafael. I've known him my entire life. I know how annoyed he gets by the tiniest of details. It's a rather irritating quality to possess, wouldn't you agree?"

"It's not really my place to say..." she consciously fiddled with her fingers.

Josie arched a perfect eyebrow, leaning in closer to the girl, "It's just us two, you can say what's on your mind, and no thought shall leave this room."

Hope let out a breath, "He's a fucking wanker, then."

Josie burst out laughing at the sentiment, "There we go, that's more like it."

"I mean, seriously, I get that I'm, like, dangerous, or whatever. But I could just be eating, and he would find some way to have a problem with it."

Josie shrugged, "Then that's his problem, not yours."

"That's easy for you to say, though," she countered to the brunette, "You're the princess, you can do whatever you please."

Josie lowered her gaze to the floor at that comment, nibbling at her bottom lip, "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

Hope frowned at the taller woman, but before she could ask what the princess had meant by that, Josie had begun to lead her out of the room by the elbow. 

"Now, how about that glass of water?" she said kindly, and Hope was fully aware that the princess was touching her elbow right now, sending her brain into haywire mode. 

She barely managed to structure a sentence together.

"But Rafael will-"

"Then I guess he'll just have to deal with it," Josie told her sharply, continuing to guide her through the maze of hallways.

Damn, Josie.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope and Josie have the gayest conversation to ever gay, and more banter between Rafael and Hope because they're Rafael and Hope :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me! Two chapters in a week! I'm NEVER this productive. Please do not get used to this, I am literally so bad with schedules and I always post like three in a row and then just disappear off of the face of the earth. I'm so unreliable :/ so sorry about that. But please enjoy! This chapter is slightly shorter than usual, so for that I apologise, but at the same time not really though because I'm kinda proud of this chapter idk. Anyways, enjoy, and thank you so much for reading my shitty-ass gay work :)

Hope really wondered sometimes whether she was God's least favourite person.

Because, well, that would explain why she somehow always managed to end up in the most strangest situations that she cannot, for the life of her, understand how she got in in the first place.

And here she was, sitting opposite Princess Josette Saltzman, the daughter of the king Alaric Saltzman, with a glass of water balancing shakily on her knee. 

She had to admit that, although she had no idea where she was, it was a nice room. The walls were painted amaranth pink, matching the curtains that were suspiciously drawn. The sofa was placed right next to a roaring fire, the fire crackling and spitting in the most satisfying way. The room was mostly bare, except for a small gingerbread-coloured table seemingly glued to the wall with a jug of water and a few glasses on it. There was a large door, which Hope could only assume lead to Josie's bedroom. 

Hope felt extremely out of place. She wasn't supposed to be here. And she certainly wasn't supposed to be here, alone with the Princess. The amount of rules that she was breaking right now for simply sitting here. Sure, she had been thirsty, but not thirsty enough for her to end up here. She didn't even know where she was, Rafael didn't allow her to explore the castle too much, just in case she bumped into someone important and they had to quickly come up with an excuse for being there.

Oh, shit. Rafael! She completely forgot about him. Surely he'd be looking for her right now. What was Rafael going to say? He'd lose his shit in -0.001 seconds, and she'd have to deal with him being in that mood for the rest of the day. And she really didn't want to deal with that, she-

"So," Josie cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence that had slowly been building up between them, "Do you, um, do you like the water?"

Despite herself, Hope quirked an eyebrow, "Do I like the _water_?" 

Josie chewed her lip, opening and closing her hands multiple times that were placed delicately in her lap, before reaching up to self-consciously tuck a strand of hickory brown hair behind her ear, "Sorry, I'm just...I tend to be really awkward around new people."

"So why did you invite me up here?" Hope asked, taking another sip of her water. 

"Because you were thirsty?" Josie was back to fidgeting with her fingers again. She did that a lot, Hope noted to herself. 

"Obviously," Hope tilted her head upwards to look at her directly, "I meant, here, specifically, where no one can see us. Aren't you scared I'm gonna, like, skin you alive, or whatever?"

Josie looked at Hope, and it was her turn to quirk an eyebrow, "That depends, do you plan on skinning me alive?"

Hope deadpanned, "I haven't quite decided yet."

Josie broke out into a smile, "Well, I'm glad to hear that my life is worth some value to you."

Hope scoffed, "Don't flatter yourself, I wouldn't go that far."

She expected this comment to offended the princess, but her smile didn't waver for a second, "You remind me of my sister."

She elaborated when she saw the look of pure horror that sprouted onto the young assassin's face, "Not like that, I mean you have similar senses of humour."

"I wouldn't know," Hope admitted, "I haven't had the...pleasure of meeting her yet." 

Josie contemplated her answer to this admission, hesitating slightly before saying, "Let me put it simple: you two would not get on."

"Is that so?" Hope questioned, a smirk slowly appearing onto her face.

"She can be a bit...much sometimes."

"More than Milton?" Hope scowled, "I find that hard to believe."

Josie's mouth formed into a frown, "Milton isn't bad." She simply stated. 

The hand that was holding Hope's water twitched, making her spill some water over herself, "I would have to disagree with that."

"Why?" Hope was beginning to notice that Josie got defensive when it came to her family. Which wasn't too shocking, Hope would hate to think about the princess' opinions on her father. 

That made Hope really think. Did the princess know? Did she know that her father was the reason that so many people were living in famine, on the brink of starvation? Did she know that he was responsible for so many people losing their lives? Women, men, children and people alike? Did she know the war that was raging outside the walls of this palace? That one day, the rebellion would come back, and they would bring her father to his knees. 

She couldn't possibly understand every single horrific thing that her father had done. If she did know, there was no way that she would be able to sit there, all perfect and pristine, as if the only worry that she had on her mind was what she was going to wear tomorrow. 

Hope looked at Josie dead in the eye with her response, "Because there's no way that someone who could support your father could be good."

Hope expected a retort. She expected a "How dare you say such a thing," or even for her to scream at her to get out, storming off madly with her face reddening by the second. Hell, she even expected a slap to the face; something that she wasn't a stranger to, being in a prison for nearly a year. 

She did not expect a quiet, "I supposed you're right."

Her head went up quicker than a lion that had just spotted their prey, "Excuse me?"

Josie didn't repeat herself, she only added to her initial opinion, "Although, I think you should try to get to know him better before making such a bold accusation."

"An accusation?" her lips spread into a small smile, "I was making a simple observation."

Josie's eyes widened comically, "Is that right?"

"The most correct thing I've ever spoken," her fingers trailed the rim of her glass, feeling the coolness of the material against the heat radiating from her fingertips. 

"I believe that I overheard you spit a pretty vile 'fuck you' to Rafael at breakfast yesterday. I would've thought that that might've been the most correct thing you've ever spoken."

"Touche," Hope grinned, quickly faltering when she realised the implications of her words, "Wait-"

Josie held up a hand in reassurance, "I wasn't stalking you, I promise. I just happened to be on a morning stroll, and the door happened to be open, so I may have peeked in for a moment or two."

Hope's lips parted, her eyebrows dipping into a slight frown.

Josie grimaced, "That sounded like I was stalking you, didn't it?"

"Only a little bit," she took another sip of her water, "But, trust me, if Rafael had caught you, then I'm not sure that we would be sitting here having this conversation."

"You two really don't like each other, do you?"

"Can you blame me?" Hope retorted, "That guy has a stick magically shoved up his ass, and he can't get it out."

"As much as I love him, I do have to say that he has a few issues with loosening up. Although, his job is a fairly serious one."

"So is mine," Hope countered, "But I still know how to pull off a few pranks."

Josie gasped, "So you were the one that dropped the chandelier a few weeks ago."

Hope tossed her glossy auburn hair over her shoulder, "What can I say? I escaped prison, travelled all the way to the palace, dropped the chandelier, went back to the prison, was chosen for this contest, travelled here again and pulled off a few more pranks, all in the span of a few weeks. I am, as they say, one talented bitch."

Josie guffawed, standing up again to set down her own glass of water, straightening the creases in her dresses as she walked, "I was right in my assumption of you having alarming similarities to my sister."

"You've mentioned her once or twice. Are you two close?"

Josie nodded as she sat down again, "Extremely. You'd never think it, but growing up as a royal can be really lonely at times. We had to rely on each other a lot of the time, you never know who likes you for you or you for your status nowadays. Especially with this huge competition coming up. Though, I don't need to tell you how important that is."

Hope tutted, "I'm somewhat aware," she didn't need to tell the princess that she was relying on this tournament to grant her her freedom. That this tournament was the one thing between her and being with her dad again. She hadn't seen him in so long, and her memories of him were starting to blur. She was terrified that one day the only thing she'd have left of her dad is a silhouette in her brain. Though, Josie didn't really need to know that.

"I've heard that you have some fierce competition, but they don't know who you really are, do they?"

The thought was so funny, that Hope had to laugh, "God, no. The only people that know who I really am are you, the King and your siblings. No one else knows who I really am. To everyone else, I'm Myra Warnson, a jewel thief from Bellhaven."

Josie turned her nose up at the name, "Myra sounds so dull," there was a twinkle in her chocolate brown eyes, "I think I prefer Hope Marshall to Myra Warnson."

A smile hinted at Hope's lips once again, "Yeah," she nodded distantly, "So do I."

-

They had talked for so long, that Hope had only gotten back from (what she assumed to be) Josie's room at noon, smiling to herself as she entered her chambers. She pressed her forehead to her bedroom door, pursing her lips to contain her giggles.

She had just had a whole ass conversation. With the princess, of all people. And she didn't hate it. In fact, she actually really liked it. Josie mainly asked her questions, but the princess had set a good impression on the young assassin. She seemed warm and welcoming in a way that seemed like a second nature to the girl. Her eyes were filled with nothing but kindness, a direct contrast to the eyes of her father.

Hope found it extremely hard to believe that Alaric and Josie even knew each other, let alone related. Josie was nothing like him. She was caring and empathetic and intelligent. She had open-minded opinions and patiently listened when someone else was talking. She had impeccable manners and was always dressed beautifully. 

But the biggest difference between them? Hope liked Josie. 

She let out a sigh, trying to collect the thoughts that were swarming around her head, trying to make sense of a few of them. 

"And where the fuck were you?" A voice asked from behind her.

She suppressed an annoyed groan, closing her eyes and clenching her fists before turning to Rafael with a broad smile, forest green eyes glistening with mischief.

"I was getting water," she said boredly. Technically, it wasn't a lie. She was getting water, just with the princess. She wasn't supposed to be WITH said princess, but Rafael didn't need to know the details. They would probably confuse his tiny little brain too much. 

"For two hours?" He asked, brows raised. Hope wondered how far they'd have to climb before they would be embedded into his hair. 

"It was very refreshing," she tried to defend herself, though she internally knew how stupid she sounded.

Rafael clicked his tongue, and readjusted his weapons belt, "I'm giving you an opportunity to be honest with me, Hope."

"And why the fuck do I need to be honest with you?" She almost spat. Okay, so maybe she was getting a little defensive, but come on, it was Rafael. He looked slightly taken aback by her sudden hostility, but masked it well after a few seconds of it showing. Hope glared at him bitterly, shouldering past him and making her way into her closet.

"What got you into a prickly mood?" She heard him poke from behind the door, and she rolled her eyes. She changed out of her sweaty clothes, into some new training clothes. She caught a glance of her appearance in the mirror. She had drastically improved in the few weeks since she had looked at herself in the prison cell, but she still didn't properly feel like herself. 

She walked straight past Rafael, and reached to grab a bottle of water that he set down, chugging down all of it.

"That was my-" he started, before cutting himself off, turning away to what Hope guessed was him rolling his eyes.

"Come on," he almost grumbled, "You're wanted at Lunch."

"I'm _wanted_ somewhere," she pretended to gasp, "That's unlikely."

He clenched his jaw, but Hope could have sworn that she saw his lip twitch, "Trust me, I asked if you could eat in your room, but the King has actually requested your presence."

Hope nearly dropped the bottle she was holding.

Her entire body paled, blood draining from her face at the news, "W-what?"

Rafael looked like he wanted to comment on how much this news spooked her, but he decided that he actually wanted all of his limbs attached to his body before he went to sleep that night, so he decided against it.

"Don't worry, I'll be there too. It'll be us, King Alaric, Prince Milton, Princess Josette and Princess Elizabeth."

She set down the bottle of water properly, "You do know that you literally just voiced my worst nightmare in a single sentence, right?"

"You're being melodramatic," he argued.

"Am I?" she whipped around to face him, "I fucking hate Milton, I don't even know Elizabeth, but I haven't really heard good things about her. I don't even want to go into my feelings about Alaric, because we'd be here for literal days."

Rafael clicked his tongue, "And Princess Josette?" he challenged. 

Hope refused to look at the Captain of the Guard, opting to tighten her ponytail.

But, Rafael, who clearly had a death wish, continued, "I couldn't help but notice that you two seemed to be...getting on pretty well a few days ago."

"How could we," Hope shrugged, "You dragged me out of her sight before I could properly get to know her."

Rafael tilted his head at that, "Fair enough, but you did make her smile."

Hope scrunched her face up in confusion at that, "Okay, and?"

Rafael looked at her distantly, "Nothing, it's just it had been a while since I saw her smile like that. That's all."

Hope gave him a weird look, "Okay, Mr Sentimental. I still don't wanna go."

"You're acting like a child," he chided, "Also, I don't think you have a choice in the matter."

"Naturally," Hope scoffed. When did she ever have a choice in her life?

Rafael sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Look, it'll only take an hour. And, besides, there will be food there."

"I do like food," Hope agreed, before coming to her senses, "Wait, no. You are _not_ bribing me with food. Nope. Not happening."

Rafael glared at her in defeat, "You don't have a choice, and you're going either way, whether you're coming willingly or not."

"Charming," she deadpanned to him, really not in the mood to deal with the King and all of his bullshit right now, "Listen, I really don't want my first time meeting the king to be when I'm tired, exhausted and just in a shitty mood, okay?"

Rafael frowned at her, "You're like that all the time, though."

Hope sneered at him, "Look at this," she showed him her thumb and her forefinger, leaving a tiny amount of space between them, "This is how thin the ice is that you're on, Waithe. Do you understand?"

"I don't know," Rafael shrugged, "I think the ice you're standing on is gonna get a whole lot thinner if you don't follow the King's orders. Which, by the way, is something that you need to get used to if you're gonna be the King's champion."

She arched an eyebrow at him, "What do you mean 'if'?"

He waved that away, "Stop trying to change the subject. It won't work."

Hope folded her arms across her chest defiantly, but she knew that he had already won. She knew that she was going to have to do this. She was going to have to play nice with the king for over an hour, and to top it all off, she had to do this in front of Rafael and Milton (who were, like, the worst people in the world). 

"Now," he stepped forwards, holding his arm out, "Are you going to continue to whine and moan about it, or are you going to be an actual grown up, and suck it up and endure it?"

Hope licked her teeth, "Fine," she grumbled, linking her arm through his, "But I won't like it," she pointed a finger at him warningly.

"Marshall," he looked down at her, "I wouldn't expect anything else from you."


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward lunch ensues, with a bunch of silences. Hope makes a friend and an important discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone :) merry christmas to those of you who celebrate! And to those who don't, I hope you guys all have a great time as well. This chapter is possibly one of my favourites so far, and I can't wait to hear what you all have to say. thank you so so much for reading once again :)

Hope knew that Rafael was side-eyeing her.

He had been ever since they had left her chambers. Honestly, if he was going to do this, the least that he could do was be subtle about it. They turned another corner, trudging through the maze of the castle. Hope had been here now for over two weeks, and she still had no idea how to get to anywhere. The only routes that she knew was the route from the palace gardens to her chambers, and her chambers to her eating quarters.

"Stop looking at me like that," she hissed at him through clenched teeth. She didn't know the guards surrounding the pair too well. For all she knew, they could be feeding every single word she uttered back directly to the King. She had to constantly remind herself to hold her tongue when she was around them, just in case.

"Like what?" was the sharp response she got, and she tutted to herself.

"Like I'm some kind of...freak."

"You _are_ some kind of freak," Rafael countered, "I assumed you knew that, though. Seeing as that's the entire reason you're here."

She looked at him dully, "Seriously, Waithe. Stop looking at me like that, or I swear to god I'll gouge your eyes out the next time there's a spoon nearby."

He simply scoffed at the threat, "In front of the King? No chance."

All of the banter was drained from her at the mention of the King. She would never, ever admit this to Rafael, but she was scared to meet him. She was scared to meet the man that she had heard such horrific things about her entire life. 

She recalled times spent in her tent at the Rebellion Site, her father speaking to her in a low voice of the horrific actions that King Alaric had done against their friends, their family. She knew that her Uncle Finn was murdered by one of King Alaric's men during a fierce battle between the two sides. 

The battle had taken place over ten years ago, but it was still a sore spot with her father. They had lost many people on that dreadful day, her Uncle only being one of them. Many battles came after that, but that one always seemed to stick with her father. 

All she had ever known was hatred towards the infamous King Alaric Saltzman. It wasn't hard to hate him, however, when she had first seen him in the meeting a week ago, he looked like a prick. She wasn't incorrect, as the words that he had spoken to the Champions were arrogant and shallow.

Still, Hope had a weird chill in her spine as they ventured closer and closer to the King's dining area. The King couldn't possibly know that she was the daughter of Klaus Mikaelson. No one did. But he did know that she was Hope Marshall. He could know information that he could use to get to her, to get a rise out of her. 

And that was what made Hope scared of him.

"All I'm saying is: Keep an eye on the cutlery," she said with an arched brow,

Rafael licked the inside of his cheek, trying to contain his laughter, "I'll keep that in mind, Marshall."

And with that, they were stood in front of a glossy oak door. Judging by the golden door handle, Hope knew that they had arrived at their destination.

"Ready?" Rafael asked sincerely, having picked up on the uneasy air around them.

Hope clenched her fists, closing her eyes briefly, "Let's just get this over with," she sighed at the Captain of the Guard. 

Rafael nodded, before knocking firmly on the door, waiting a few moments before they heard a voice from within boom, "Enter."

Hope's breath hitched. The room was fucking massive. The table itself was huge, and could seat about twenty people at it, made of fine birch wood, polished finely without a scratch in sight. The seats cushioning were made of a smooth velvet material, with the same polished birch wood surrounding the cushions. Paintings that told all sorts of stories hung from the high walls, their colours blending in smoothly. A grand chandelier hung proudly from the ceiling, slowly swaying from the breeze provided from an opened window. 

Hope kept her eyes trained on the back of Rafael's head. If she didn't look at the royals, then they weren't there. At least, that was the logic that she was going by. 

"Captain Waithe," the King grinned, "How kind of you to bless us with your presence."

There was an undertone of sarcasm in his voice, and Hope had to clench her jaw firmly shut. 

"Your Highness," Rafael bowed, his face clean of any kind of emotion. It reminded her of the first time that she had met him, "I'm here with Hope Marshall, as requested."

Alaric clasped his hands together, his eyes leaving Rafael and landing on Hope. She gulped nervously, her confident exterior faltering slightly, "Ms Marshall."

Hope didn't move for a few seconds, until Rafael elbowed her sharply, eyes glaring into her. She did an awkward curtsy, a small, "Your Highness," coming out of her mouth.

She really wanted to vomit. 

"Please, sit," his hand gestured towards the seats surrounding him. It was only then she allowed herself to look at the children of the King. Milton seemed really interested with a stain on the wall, Elizabeth was looking at her reflection through a silver spoon, and Josie sent her a polite smile. It reminded her of one that she had sent her just hours ago, when they were talking.

Hope took a seat between Milton and Rafael. As much as she mocked him and argued with him, she knew that Rafael would never let anything bad happen to her. The only thing that was going to get her through this lunch was the knowledge that he was going to have to endure this with her. 

The tension was awkward between the six people seat. Hope obviously wasn't going to be the one to break the silence, she had no idea what the fuck she was doing here. But, count on Milton fucking Saltzman to always have something to say.

"How's training going?" he asked her directly, a grin spreading onto his face.

She would kick him if she could, "It's going well," she answered, a sickly sweet smile on her face, "I think I'm regaining a lot of the strength that I had lost whilst in prison."

"That's a bit of an understatement," Josie responded kindly, "I mean, I've seen you training: you're exceptionally good."

Hope tried her hardest not to blush at the compliment the princess had given her, "Thank you."

"Oh, give me a break," she heard Elizabeth mutter under her breath. She paid that no heed.

"Enough small talk," the King said with a sense of finality, and no one questioned him, "Now, Ms Marshall, you're probably wondering why I've called you here to speak with me."

"Only a little," she chose her words extremely carefully. This was King Alaric. One insulting comment about his clothes, and she would be thrown in the dungeons for the rest of her life. 

"I'm sure you've been aware of the rebellions that have been fighting against me for a few decades now?"

What a stupid question, she frowned internally. There wasn't a single person that didn't know about the Rebellion. Her father was the most wanted person for thousands of miles. Since being here, she had seen over twenty posters with her father's face on them. Usually, she would have laughed at how stupid he looked in them. 

"I have, Your Highness," she responded with, barely being able to stomach any of the food that she was nervously shovelling into her mouth. Rafael sent her a funny look.

"Well, I can't have that, you see. I have been king of this fine land for thirty years now, and this Rebellion has started to becoming a real pain for me."

Hope uncertainly ate another mouthful of food. Where was he going with this? And what did any of this have to do with her? He didn't know who she truly was, so why was he so intent on discussing the Rebellion with her? Her assassin work was completely unrelated to the Rebellion, or at least, that's what the King thought. 

"I can see how that would be an issue," Hope supplied, not failing to notice Milton trying to hide a grimace at the topic of the conversation.

"Come on, Dad. Do we really have to talk about this over lunch?" the prince complained.

Alaric silenced his son with the wave of his hand, "Quiet, Milton. Now, Ms Marshall, I believe that I must inform you that I have heard that there is a spy for the Rebellion, here, in the palace," he leaned over the table, looking at her, "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

Before Hope could stop herself, she frowned, "No, why?"

The King merely raised an eyebrow at her, "Don't play dumb with me, Ms Marshall. I'm very aware of the fact that you were working under the Rebellion."

Her blood turned into ice, her face paling drastically, "How...how did you-"

"That isn't relevant," he dismissed, "What _is_ relevant, is that as soon as you," he pointed a finger at her, "arrived at the palace, I suddenly hear about a spy feeding back information to the Rebellion,"

Hope's mouth flew open to retort to him, but Josie beat her to it.

"Are you implying what I think you're implying, dad?" She asked disbelievingly. Alaric simply shrugged.

"If I may speak, Your Highness?" Rafael spoke up from besides her. Finally, Hope thought, he had been leaving all the talking to her until now, it was about time he chimed in with his stupid thoughts. 

"You may," The King said, though he didn't look too happy about it.

Rafael nodded awkwardly, before continuing, "Under your strict instructions, I have been monitoring Ms Marshall, day in and day out, without fail. When she is sleeping, there are always multiple guards posted outside of her chambers. And during the day, there are always at least ten people that she is constantly surrounded by, myself included."

"Your point, Captain Waithe?" The King practically seethed.

To Hope's sheer delight, she saw Rafael clench his fists underneath the table, "My point is, that Ms Marshall couldn't possibly have any time to sneak off and inform anyone or anything. She couldn't be the spy, she has no time to be. When she's not training, she's either sleeping, eating or reading. And, trust me sire, this girl does not know her way around the palace."

She nodded internally. She could practically cry at Rafael's defence to her. Sure, he could be a dick, but he was vouching for her, risking everything for questioning the King, an offence that could be punishable by death.

Alaric's withering stare ceased, and he leaned back in his chair, "Very well. Both of you are dismissed."

They both stood up instantly. Hope just really wanted to get out of there, not wanting to spend another second with him. 

"But do let me know if you hear anything," The King told her directly, and Hope knew that everyone in the room could hear the threat in his tone.

She nodded meekly, looking to Rafael.

Rafael leaned forwards, "I'll see you at the meeting tonight, Prince Milton."

Milton looked up, a small, rare smile on his lips, and nodded at the Captain of the Guard. Hope's eyebrows furrowed. 

Rafael took her elbow and nearly dragged her out of the room.

-

For the next four days, Hope awoke before dawn to train in her room, using whatever she could to exercise, anything would do with Hope. She was used to training with anything. Cut out bricks from her cell wall, rusty nails, cutlery, torn-up bits of garments, quite literally anything.

Around dawn, Rafael usually showed up for breakfast. Afterwards, they ran through the palace gardens, where he kept pace at her side. Autumn had fully come, and the wind smelled of crisp leaves, dampness and snow. They would run until Hope began to groan and complain, which made Rafael give up due to the constant state of it.

Once they’d finished their run, they trained in a private room far from her competitors’ eyes. Until, that is, she collapsed to the ground and cried that she was about to die of hunger and fatigue. At lessons, the knives remained Hope’s favourite, but the wooden staff became dear; naturally, it had to do with the fact that she could freely whack him and not chop off an arm. Since the extremely awkward lunch with the King and Princess Josie, she hadn’t seen or heard from the princess—not even chatter from the servants.

Rafael always came for lunch, and afterwards, she joined the other Champions for a few more hours of training under Kaleb’s watchful eye. Most of their training was just to make sure they could actually use weapons. And, of course, she kept her head down throughout it all, doing enough to keep Kaleb from critiquing her, but not enough to make him praise her the way he did Malivore.

Malivore. Ugh, how she fucking hated that guy! Kaleb practically worshipped the man—and even the other Champions nodded their respect when he passed by. No one bothered to comment on how perfect her form was. Was this how the other assassins at the Rebellion had felt all those years she had spent hogging her father’s attention? But here, it was hard to focus when Malivore was nearby, taunting and sneering, waiting for her to make one mistake. Hopefully he wouldn’t distract her at the first elimination test. Kaleb hadn’t given them any indication what they might be tested for, and Rafael was just as clueless. Malivore was literally perfect, it pissed Hope off. He didn't seem like a total bastard, but at the same time, Hope really wanted to punch him in the gut to wipe that stupid smirk off of his scarred face.

The day before the first Test, she knew something was wrong long before she got to the training hall. Rafael hadn’t shown up for breakfast, but rather sent her guards to bring her to the training hall to practice on her own. He didn’t show up for lunch, either, and by the time she was escorted to the hall, she was brimming with questions. Mainly about Rafael and whether he was alright. Not that she'd ever admit she was concerned for his wellbeing, though. That would be downright humiliating. 

Without Rafael to stand near, she lingered beside a pillar, watching the competitors file in, flanked by guards and their trainers. Kaleb wasn’t there yet—another oddity. And there were far too many guards in the training hall today.

“What do you suppose this is about?” Landon Kirby, the young thief from a neighbouring village, asked from beside her. After proving himself somewhat skilled during practice, many of the other competitors had sought him out, but he still opted to keep to himself.

“Captain Waithe didn’t train me this morning,” she offered, trying not to allow her concern for the captain clean off of her face.

Landon held out his hand, “Landon Kirby.” he introduced. 

“I know who you are,” she said, but shook his hand anyway. His grip was solid and firm, just like Hope's. Respect for the man seeped into the young assassin.

“Good. I’ve felt a bit invisible with that hulking buff-show showing off these past few days.” He jerked his chin toward Malivore, who was in the middle of examining his bulging biceps. Landon continued. “Did you see Jed? He looks like he’s going to be sick.” He pointed to the loudmouthed thief that Hope wanted to knock out cold. Normally, Jed could be found near Malivore, taunting the other Champions. But today he stood alone by the window, face pale and eyes wide.

“I heard him talking to Malivore,” said a timid voice behind them, and they found Pedro, the youngest assassin, standing nearby. She’d spent half a day watching Pedro—and while she only pretended to be mediocre, he truly could use the training.

“What’d he say?” Landon put his hands in his pockets. His clothes weren’t as ratty as the other competitors’; the mere fact that she’d actually heard his name implied he must have been a good thief in...well, wherever he came from.

Pedro’s smooth face paled a bit. “One of the champions was found dead this morning. Chastain, I think it was.”

A Champion was dead? And a notorious killer at that. “How?” she demanded. It was hard to keep the surprise off of her face. It suddenly made sense as to why Rafael wasn't there this morning. A wave of relief filled her. He wasn't dead. She meant....unfortunately for her he wasn't dead. Bummer...

Pedro swallowed hard. “Jed said it wasn’t pretty. Like someone ripped him wide open. He passed the body on his way here.” Landon cursed under his breath, eyebrows furrowed, and Hope studied the other Champions. A hush had fallen on the group, and clusters of them stood together, whispering. Jed’s story was spreading fast. Pedro went on. “He said Chastain’s body was in ribbons.”

A chill snaked down her spine, but she shook her head, just as a guard entered and told them that Kaleb had ordered them to have free rein of the training hall today and to practice what they wanted. Needing to distract herself from the image forming in her mind, she didn’t bother to say good-bye to Landon and Pedro as she strode to the weapons rack and gathered a belt strapped with throwing knives.

She took up a place near the archery targets; Landon joined her a moment later, and started firing his knives at the target. He hit the second ring, but never got any closer to the centre. His skill with knives wasn’t nearly as good as his archery, she noted.

She drew a dagger from the belt. Who would have killed one of the Champions so brutally? And how had they gotten away with it, if the body was in the hall? This castle was swarming with guards. A Champion was dead, and just a day before their first Test; would this start a pattern?

Her focus narrowed to the small, black dot in the centre of the target. She steadied her breathing as she cocked her arm, letting her wrist go loose. The sounds of the other Champions faded. The blackness of the bull’s-eye beckoned, and as she exhaled, she sent the dagger flying.

It sparkled, a shooting star of steel. She smiled grimly as it struck home.

Beside her, Landon swore colourfully when his dagger hit the third ring on his target, and her smile broadened, despite the shredded corpse that lay somewhere in the castle.

Hope drew another dagger, but paused as Jed called to her from the ring where he sparred with Malivore. “Circus tricks ain’t much use when you’re the King’s Champion.” She shifted her gaze to him, but kept positioned toward the target. “You’d be better off on your back, learning tricks useful to a woman. In fact, I can teach you some tonight, if you’d like.” He laughed, and other Champions joined with him. Hope gripped the hilt of a dagger so hard that it hurt. 

What a sexist douchebag, she thought. She guessed that without Rafael there with her, the Champions were starting to get a little too confident, talking to her like that. 

“Don’t listen to them,” Landon murmured. He tossed another dagger, missing the bull’s-eye again. “They wouldn’t know the first thing to do with a woman, even if one walked stark naked into their bedroom.”

Hope threw her dagger, and the blade clanged as it landed a hair’s breadth from the one she’d already embedded in the bull’s-eye.

Landon’s dark brows rose, accentuating his green eyes. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. “You’ve got impressive aim.” He told her, nodding appreciatively. 

“For a girl?” she challenged, raising an auburn eyebrow.

“No,” he said, and threw another dagger. “For anyone.” The dagger yet again missed the mark. He stalked to the target, yanking out all six daggers and shoving them in their sheaths before returning to the throwing line. Hope cleared her throat.

“You’re standing wrong,” she said, quietly enough so the other Champions couldn’t hear. “And you’re holding your wrist incorrectly.”

Landon lowered his arm. She took up her stance. “Legs like this,” she said. He studied her for a moment, then positioned his legs similarly. “Bend slightly at the knees. Shoulders back; loosen your wrist. Throw when you exhale.” She demonstrated for him, and her dagger found its mark.

“Show me again,” Landon said appreciatively.

She did so, and struck the target. Then she threw with her left hand, and fought her whoop of triumph as the blade sank into the handle of another dagger.

Landon focused on the target as he brought up his arm. “Well, you’ve just put me to shame,” he said, laughing under his breath as he lifted his dagger higher.

“Keep your wrist even looser,” was her reply. “It’s all about how you snap it.”

Landon obeyed, and as he exhaled a long breath, his dagger flew. It didn’t hit the bull’s-eye, but it came within the inner circle. His brows rose. “That’s a bit of an improvement.”

“Just a bit,” she said, and held her ground as he gathered their knives from the two targets and handed hers back. She sheathed them in her belt. “So where are you from, Landon Kirby?” she asked. She assumed that this was probably the only one of the Champions that actually treated her with respect. The other disgusting, sexist pigs would never even talk to her, let alone compliment her and ask for her help. She figured that there was no point in being rude to one of the only people that treated her like an actual person instead of a spec of dust on the floor that they can just spit on because of her gender.

She schooled her features into polite interest as Landon nodded. “I'm from a small town called Perranth. It's not far from here, actually. It's about a day's walk, half a day on horseback. This is my first time out of Perranth, actually. You said you were from Bellhaven, didn’t you?” He asked her, actually peaking interest into her life.

“My father is a merchant,” she lied through her teeth, throwing another knife at the target. Bullseye. 

“And what does he think about a daughter who steals jewels for a living?” He queried, his eyebrows raised with amusement.

She conceded a smile and hurled a knife into the target. “He won’t be inviting me home for a while, that’s for certain.”

“Ah, you’re in good hands, though. You’ve got the best trainer out of anyone. I’ve seen you two running at dawn. I have to beg mine to put down the bottle and let me train outside of lessons.” He inclined his head toward his trainer, who sat against the wall, the hood of his cape over his eyes. “Sleeping, yet again.”

“The Captain of the Guard is a pain in my ass at times,” she said, chucking another knife, “but you’re right—he’s the best.” She hoped and prayed that Landon wouldn't tell Rafael she just said that. Because if he told him, she'd never hear the end of it.

Landon was quiet for a moment before he said: “The next time we pair off for lessons, find me, will you?”

“Why?” She reached for another dagger, but found she’d depleted her stock again.

Landon threw another dagger, and it hit the bull’s-eye this time. “Because my gold’s on you winning this whole damn thing.”

She smiled a little. “Let’s hope you won’t be eliminated at the Test tomorrow.” She scanned the training hall for any sign of the challenge to come the following morning, but found nothing out of the ordinary. The other competitors remained mostly quiet—save for Malivore and Jed—and many of them were pale as snow. “And let’s hope neither of us winds up like the Champion who ended up dead,” she added, and meant it.

Landon nodded glumly, leaving her on her own. She chewed her lip as he walked away. Maybe, if they had met under different circumstances, the two of them could have been friends.

-

“Don’t you ever do anything other than read?” said Rafael. She started from her chair on the balcony as he took a seat beside her. The late-afternoon sunlight warmed her face, and the last balmy breeze of autumn rushed through her unbound hair.

She stuck out her tongue. “Shouldn’t you be looking into the Champion’s murder?” He never came to her rooms after lunch. It was a thing.

Something dark flitted across his eyes. “That’s none of your business. And don’t try to pry details from me about it,” he added as she opened her mouth. He pointed to the book in her lap. “I saw at lunch that you’re reading The Wind and the Rain, and I forgot to ask what you thought.”

He’d really come to talk about a book when a Champion’s corpse had been found that morning? “It’s a bit dense,” she admitted, holding up the brown volume in her lap. When he didn’t reply, she asked, “Why are you really here?”

“I had a long day," was his blunt answer.

She massaged an ache in her knee. “Because of Chastain's murder?”

“Because the prince dragged me into a council meeting that lasted for three hours,” he said, a muscle in his jaw feathering.

"Oh, no. Council meetings, the world will surely end if you do not attend them."

There was a ghost of a smile on his face as he watched the sky melt into a smear of tangerine. “What do your parents make of their daughter being a part of the Rebellion?” He asked her, refraining eye contact.

“My parents are dead,” she lied, “They died when I was eight.”

“So you—”

Her heart thundered in her chest. “I was born in Terrasen, then I became an assassin, then I went to many other places, and now I’m here. And that’s it.” She lied. It was so easy to lie, it was like a second nature to her. Though she hated lying to Rafael, she had to. Even if he was being so honest and open with her. One day she might be able to tell the truth. One day maybe the both of them would have escaped the King. Maybe.

Silence fell; then he asked, “Where’d you get that scar on your right hand?” She didn’t need to glance at the jagged line that ran along the top of her hand, just above her wrist. She flexed her fingers.

“When I was twelve, I went on a mission with a friend of mine called Sebastian. We were supposed to bring someone back to the Rebellion unharmed for information. But, when we got there, I was caught by some guards. Sebastian ran away, and didn’t help me. And I was left to fend myself.” She gave him a distant smile, “I bet Milton didn’t do that to you.” She added, her heart feeling really heavy in her hollow rib-cage.

“No,” he said quietly. “No, he didn’t.” He cleared his throat and stood. “The first Test is tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Of course,” she lied, though he probably saw right through that one. Her shaky breath gave away her true feelings, and the truth was that she was absolutely terrified of winding up dead tomorrow. It was a possibility. And no matter how good she liked to think she was, she knew that the others would stop at nothing if it meant that they didn't have to go back to prison. And that included murdering people.

He remained standing there for a moment longer, studying her. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said, but Hope caught his arm as he stood to leave.

"Wait," she muttered, feeling so embarrassed as he sat back down again, an eyebrow risen.

"I...um...why are you so protective of Milton?" she asked. She had wanted to ask that for a while now. She knew that he was protective of all of the Royals, but she noticed that it was Milton especially. And, after seeing their small interaction at lunch, her curiosity only bloomed more.

"Because it's my duty to make sure no harm comes to any member of the Royal family."

"Well, yeah, but, I don't know, I've just noticed that you treat him differently than the others."

"That's because he's my best friend. We grew up beside each other, did everything together. We had classes together, learned the same things, spent all of our time together. We were the only two male children growing up in the castle. So, naturally, we became friends. Wouldn't you do whatever it took to protect your best friend?" He asked.

Hope pursed her lips, and she noticed that there was something that Rafael was holding back. Something he wasn't telling her.

"It's something more than that, though, isn't it?" She asked. She knew what she was doing was dangerous, but he had to know that he wasn't alone in this. 

Rafael stared at her, something shifting in his face, "I don't know what you're talking about," he denied, clenching his jaw.

"Yes, you do, Rafael," she told him softly, and she scooched closer to the Captain of the Guard.

"No, I don't," he shook his head vigorously.

"Yes, you do," she continued, "I wasn't too sure about it, but now I'm almost certain. I mean, I didn't want to say anything just in case, but now I'm positive. Rafael..."

"Stop," he whispered, but in the silent room, Hope heard it as clear as a blue sky.

"It's alright, Rafael-" she started, but he abruptly stood up.

"Enough of this nonsense." He told her, and she could see that he was shaking now.

"Rafael. It's alright-"

"But it isn't," she saw tears fill his eyes, "It's not...it- it's not alright."

"Yes, it is," she reached forwards to grab his hands, but he took a step back.

"I...I need to go..."

"Rafael-" she called after him, but he was already gone. 

She wrapped her arms around herself, a cold wind picking up the skirts of her dress and blowing them behind her.


End file.
